


Words and Deeds

by gamerfic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dwarven Politics, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Marriage of Convenience, Minor canon divergence, Orzammar, Post-Canon, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Villain Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:03:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/pseuds/gamerfic
Summary: Anora Mac Tir has spent a decade imprisoned within a gilded cage while King Alistair rules Ferelden in her place. When Anora’s already tenuous position in the ever-shifting power landscape of Thedas goes from bad to worse, she must reluctantly accept that her best hope for protection and survival lies in a marriage of convenience to Warden-Commander Sereda Aeducan, the very woman who cost Anora her throne. But Sereda’s life is also thrown into turmoil when the suspicious death of King Harrowmont and the succession crisis it entails draw her back to her ancestral homeland for the first time since the end of the Blight. Amidst the many hazards of Orzammar's politics, two women who would be queen must learn to trust one another - and to confront the growing attraction that neither of them wants to acknowledge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [olio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olio/gifts).



> Regarding the "Villain Character Death" tag - please consult the author's note at the end of this fic if you would like to be spoiled for these minor character deaths before choosing whether to read this fic. If you would rather proceed unspoiled, carry on and I hope you enjoy the story!

Stonewater Castle, in the foothills of the Frostback Mountains, was a comfortable, refined, and well-appointed prison, but a prison nonetheless. Its most noteworthy prisoner, Anora Mac Tir, woke each morning beneath the ornate canopy of her soft bed and dressed herself in a fine gown. Her daily meals were replete with choice cuts of meat, freshly baked pastries and breads, and abundant fruits and vegetables from both near and far. At her leisure, she perused books from the castle's extensive library, amused herself with music or weaving or painting or needlepoint, or wandered alone through the gardens and courtyards. She corresponded with family and friends as she pleased, uncertain of whether her letters ever reached their intended recipients; what replies she received often came back missing pages or with their seals pried off and then artlessly replaced. Some days, she could almost make herself believe that she was simply enjoying an extended vacation at a distant relative's foreign estate. Yet all too often her imagination failed her. It was too difficult to shake the knowledge that if she tried to walk out the front gate or breach Stonewater's thick walls, the guards patrolling the parapets would shoot her down as surely as they would a common murderer trying to escape a lord's dungeons.

Ten years had passed her by like this. Ten years endured in exile and confinement by order of King Alistair, while he sat uneasily on the throne that should have been hers. Ten years spent away from the games and intrigues of the Fereldan nobility, losing influence and relevance, being forgotten little by little. As time wore on and the seasons changed through her bedroom window, she watched her youth slowly fade in the mirror on her dressing table and mourned the loss of all she might have been. She told herself that she still had allies at court, that if she could somehow win her freedom she could claw her way back into the halls of power. But she knew it was a fantasy, a comforting lie an old woman would one day tell herself on her deathbed. _I could have been someone great if only I had been allowed to embrace my own greatness. If only Alistair and his Warden friend had not stolen my chance from me._

A team of servants had been tasked with fulfilling Anora's needs, but none of them stayed with her for long. They could be counted on to assist her and to do as she asked, but none could ever be trusted with secret schemes, as she had once done with Erlina in Denerim. Anora had to grudgingly admire the wisdom of her captors; they never allowed anyone to serve her for long enough to form a true bond with her, lest they become tempted to aid her in escaping. So she did not find it odd when she did not recognize the chambermaid who brought her breakfast one cloudy late autumn morning. "Good morning," said Anora, cheerfully and politely.

The chambermaid mumbled something incomprehensible in response. Anora displayed no irritation at her less-than-polished behavior; undoubtedly it was challenging to hire new servants so frequently, and more than one chambermaid before had eventually blossomed into a skilled assistant after a rocky start. She turned her attention to the breakfast tray the chambermaid had brought in and began spreading butter and jam over the crusty yeast rolls as she launched into a well-rehearsed speech. "You must be new here. I'm sure you're very nervous, but I assure you, I'm not nearly as frightful as you may have heard. I don't know who keeps spreading stories about me when it's been years since I had anything to do with Fereldan politics at all, but I assure you - "

Anora never reached the end of her recitation. She let out a strangled groan as the new chambermaid wrapped an arm around her neck, closing off her windpipe. To no avail, she kicked and clawed against the ever-tightening grip. She tried to scream for help, but no sound escaped her parted lips. The chambermaid wrestled her out of her chair, down to the floor. Anora's feet drummed uselessly against the plush carpet as her fingers scrabbled weakly against the chambermaid's arm. The world was going dark and fuzzy around the edges. _Strange,_ she thought, _that after so much boredom my life should end with so much excitement._

Distantly, she heard the sound of shattering glass. The pressure on her throat abruptly eased. Wasting no time, she rolled away from her attacker, coughing and wheezing as she sucked in a deep and painful breath. She lifted her head to see an oddly familiar dwarven woman wrestling with the chambermaid. The dwarf and the chambermaid kicked and flailed vigorously as they thrashed on the floor. Judging by the shards of glass scattered around them, the dwarf had unceremoniously entered through a nearby window.

Anora crawled away, but continued to watch the melee. After a brief but fierce struggle, the dwarf gained the upper hand. She sat down hard on the chambermaid's chest, drew two daggers from somewhere within her leather armor, and plunged them both into the chambermaid's throat. The chambermaid gurgled and went limp.

The dwarf wiped her daggers on the chambermaid's skirt and stood up. Her intense gaze flickered rapidly around the room before landing on Anora. "Get me a blanket," she said. "Quickly."

Anora coughed and cleared her sore throat. "Who are you? What is happening?"

"Please just do as I say. My lady, you are in grave danger."

"Well, yes, I gathered that."

The dwarf bit back a curse. "My lady," she said again in a frosty tone, "just give me a fucking blanket before anyone comes in here to investigate and sees this body. I'll explain later."

_She has a point,_ thought Anora. Despite her confusion, she did as she was told and pulled the embroidered coverlet from her bed. The dwarf wrapped the chambermaid's body in the cloth with a practiced smoothness that suggested considerable experience with this sort of work. With a strength belied by her short stature, she pulled the wrapped corpse across the room and shoved it under the bed. After a moment's hesitation, she grabbed the breakfast tray the chambermaid had brought in with her and hid it beside the body. There was a knock on the door. "Get rid of whoever that is," the dwarf hissed, hopping up onto the mattress and pulling the drapes closed around her. "Don't trust anyone. I was never here."

The knock came again, louder and more insistent this time. "Come in," called Anora, as calmly as she could manage.

This time, the elven woman who entered was no stranger. Miria had been Stonewater Castle's seneschal for as long as Anora had been held there. She took in the broken window, the furniture in disarray, and the bloodstained carpet with concern. "Anora, what in the world happened here? I heard a crash. Are you hurt?"

"No," said Anora slowly as her mind churned through possibilities. She had spoken to Miria almost every day throughout the decade of her imprisonment, and had grown to consider her a friend, for all that she also remained a jailer. There was no one in the castle she trusted more. But the chambermaid's attack had been no accident, and it hardly seemed like a plan of a servant's own devising. It must have been arranged by someone who knew Stonewater well - and sadly, there was no way she could rule Miria out as a collaborator. And so she lied. "It was the strangest thing. The biggest bird I've ever seen flew into the window and broke it." She indicated the blood on the floor, knowing it would be much more suspicious to pretend it wasn't there. "It must have cut itself before it flew out again."

"How bizarre," said Miria, apparently accepting the improbable tale at face value. _Or does she know perfectly well what happened, and she's trying to figure out how I'm still alive and her assassin is nowhere to be seen?_ She frowned as she continued to take in the scene. "Didn't Lydia bring you your breakfast? The cook should have sent her up here a while ago."

Now Anora understood why the dwarf had hidden the tray. "I haven't seen anyone except you this morning," she lied confidently.

Miria sighed and shook her head. "Training new help is so hard sometimes. I'll go make sure she didn't get lost. The cook will bring your breakfast up herself as soon as she can get away."

"I think I'll take all my meals in my room today, if you don't mind, Miria. All this excitement has my nerves on edge."

"Yes, of course, Anora. I'll send someone to repair the window, too."

After Miria left, the dwarf poked her head cautiously out from the curtained bed. "Is she gone?"

"She should be."

"Good," said the dwarf, climbing down. "I'm glad you can think on your feet. Most people couldn't come up with a story like that on the fly."

"I know you," said Anora. Ten years had lined the other woman's face and put thin streaks of silver in her hair that hadn't been visible at the Landsmeet, but now that the immediate crisis had passed, there was no mistaking her melodious voice and her casual grace. "Sereda Aeducan. You're the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, aren't you? Unless things have changed."

"My lady." Sereda gave a perfunctory bow. "You've stayed informed, even in exile. Though I doubt you've been able to stay abreast of the news that brings me here."

"And what news would that be, pray tell?"

Sereda cast a nervous glance toward the door. "Listen, we don't have much time. Suffice to say, what just happened with your chambermaid should be enough to prove that your life is in danger. The political dynamics of Ferelden have changed. Many people in power who were once content to let you live out your exile in peace now believe you're better off dead. I was sent to make sure that doesn't happen. This castle isn't safe for you anymore, my lady. So I'm going to take you somewhere that _is_ safe, until the current crisis subsides and we figure out what to do next. We need to leave this castle as soon as possible."

Anora was struck temporarily speechless. "Why should I believe you?" she said at last. "You're not my ally or my friend. In fact, it was your work at the Landsmeet that made Alistair king and imprisoned me here."

"If I were in league with _her_ ," said Sereda, gesturing at the body hidden under the bed, "why would I have saved your life just now?"

"That sounds like something somebody would say to get me to let down my guard. Give me one reason I should trust you."

"I thought you might say that." Sereda retrieved a tightly wound piece of parchment from a pouch on her belt and handed it over. Anora could not suppress a gasp when she saw the document's red wax seal. _This is from the king's personal signet ring. Even she could not falsify such a thing._ "You don't have to believe me if you don't want to, but you might believe the person who sent this letter."

With trembling hands, Anora broke the seal, unrolled the paper, and read:

_My lady Anora,_

_I wish I were sending you this letter in happier times, but things are bad and there's only so much I can do to make them better. I hate to admit it, but my reign is in crisis. I've done a lot of things wrong in the past ten years and I'm not sure how to fix them anymore. But one thing I can do is make sure you don't pay the price for my mistakes. There are people in Ferelden who want to use you for their own ends, and others who just want you dead. I don't want any of that, so I'm doing what I can to protect you and to set things right._

_Sereda Aeducan has come to you at my personal request. You can trust her to keep you safe. Please do what she says, and please believe me when I say that despite our conflicts and disagreements I never wanted you to come to any harm. I know you're going to want all the details of what's happening and why I'm doing this, but it's probably a bad idea to put most of that in writing. Ask Sereda and she'll fill you in._

_Please stay safe until I can write to you again._

_I'm sorry,_

_King Alistair_

Anora looked up from the letter as a knot formed in her belly. "His Majesty is right about one thing. I have a lot of questions."

"They'll have to wait. Someone's going to show up with your breakfast at any moment. I need to leave - but I'll return tonight, after sunset, to get you. If you believe King Alistair at all, you'll be ready to leave with me. Take only what you can carry. I promise I'll explain everything as soon as you're free of this place."

Anora's thoughts raced. King Alistair was indeed honest to a fault, and she knew he surrounded himself with wise counselors and skilled spies. His intelligence was certainly credible. As for Sereda herself, if she had wanted Anora dead she would have done it already. Moreover, Anora could not deny that the promise of freedom held a strong attraction, however hazardous her circumstances might be. Better to take the chance to escape now, in hopes of later leaving Sereda behind and re-entering the game she had spent so long apart from. If things went badly wrong, she supposed she could always crawl back to her captors later. "Very well," she said at last. "I'll be waiting."

Sereda nodded. "I'll be here."

After Sereda departed by the same window through which she had entered, Anora re-read Alistair's letter, committed it to memory, and burned it in the fireplace. It wouldn't do to leave any clues for others to follow. She sat in her chair and waited for the servants to arrive, her placid expression betraying no hint of the would-be assassin lying dead in the same room or of her inner tumult. When Alistair had imprisoned her, she had believed she would never get another chance to influence the course of the world. But could this new and sudden shift in her fates, hazardous as it was, really be the opportunity she'd been longing for?


	2. Chapter 2

Sereda was as good as her word. She returned to Stonewater in the dead of night, creeping over the wall and past the sentries without raising the alarm. The only sound heralding her arrival was a faint creak as she cautiously pried up the boards an apprentice carpenter had nailed over the broken window. Anora perched on the edge of the bed, wearing a dark woolen cloak and her least conspicuous dress, wide awake despite the pitch-black bedchamber and the lateness of the hour. "Are you ready?" Sereda whispered as she crept inside.

"Yes," replied Anora as she picked up her bags. As requested, she had packed lightly. A long-neglected leather satchel held a pared-down wardrobe, while a small silk purse contained a few valuables she could not do without. She felt an unexpected pang at reducing a life of plenty and privilege down to such meager salvage, then steeled herself against her longing for such frivolous things. She would escape Stonewater Castle with her life, and her knowledge, and her cunning. These gifts were worth more to her than any material object, and would profit her more abundantly in the end.

Sereda gestured to the window and Anora climbed through it, taking care not to cut her hands on the shards of glass in the frame. It was a short, easy drop to the soft ground below. Sereda followed behind her. Then they were off together through the frigid darkness of the orchard, dodging tree roots and low-hanging branches by the light of the moons. Anora risked a last glance over her shoulder and noted with relief that the darkened castle remained oblivious to her departure. The guards were nowhere to be found. _With luck,_ she thought, _I'll never see this place again._

When they reached the wall surrounding the castle grounds, Sereda pointed out a narrow gap between the stones. A burly laborer or an armored knight would never have fit, but a dwarf and a slender human woman could just barely squeeze through. "Run," said Sereda after they passed through the wall. So Anora ran, her heart pounding and her chest burning with exertion until they reached the cover of the nearby forest.

Soon after they came to a rugged dirt road wending its way amidst the trees. Sereda paused beside a fallen log and retrieved a heavy traveler's pack stowed inside it. "There," she said, breaking the silence as she adjusted the straps. "The hardest part is over. There's an inn not far from here where we can stay the night and meet my contact in the morning. From there, he can get us to a safe location."

"Do you really think it's a good idea to stop so soon?" asked Anora. "When Miria finds me missing, don't you think the local inns are the first place she'll send her people to look for me?"

"How much farther do you think we can get like this, my lady? I only have enough provisions to last a few days, and your pretty clothes won't do you much good when winter hits."

Anora had to admit that despite her cloak's fine workmanship, she was already shivering in the cold night air. Rather than concede the point, she changed the subject. "Well, if the hardest part is really over, why don't you explain why you came to me, like you said you would? King Alistair's letter said that his reign was in crisis."

"It is."

"I told you this would happen before the Landsmeet, Warden-Commander."

"What's happened is no fault of Alistair's. Mostly." Sereda sighed. "Do you know what the Calling is?"

"It's when Grey Wardens get the urge to go into the Deep Roads and die in battle with the darkspawn, isn't it?"

"Yes. So a year or so ago, something odd happened. Every Warden in Ferelden and Orlais started to feel the Calling. At the same time."

Dread prickled at Anora's spine as she remembered the Archdemon soaring through the skies above Denerim. "Surely you can't mean another Blight - "

"No. Whatever you're thinking it was, it wasn't that. It was caused by some sort of spell, not the real thing. Meant to trick the Wardens into working for some guy named Corypheus. It's fixed now. That part of it isn't actually very important. The point is, like I said, every single Warden got the Calling…"

"...Including King Alistair."

"Exactly. You wouldn't believe the effort it took to convince him he couldn't just abdicate and run off to the front lines."

"I have some idea."

"I felt it, too. It was like nothing I've ever experienced." Sereda hesitated, then seemed to force herself to resume speaking. "Anyway, the spell eventually got broken and the fake Calling went away. But the whole thing made a bunch of people suddenly realize their king had never stopped being a Grey Warden, even if he's been excused from all the normal Warden duties. This Calling wasn't real, sure - but one day it will be. King Alistair might abdicate or die much sooner than any of his advisors would like. And when that happens, Ferelden will need to agree on who's next in the line of succession."

The picture had already come together in Anora's mind. "Let me guess," she said. "King Alistair has not produced an heir."

"Shit, he never even got married. More interested in other things, I suppose. And until such time as he fathers a child…"

"...I am still, technically, heir to the throne."

"Now you get it," Sereda said grimly. "The arls and teyrns are starting to get it, too. Some of them are making noise about bringing you out of exile to take over. Others want you out of the picture altogether, to make sure you don't get in the way of whatever they have planned. The people from that second group are the ones who hired the assassin you met this morning."

"Wait a minute," said Anora. "If there are nobles who want me to take Alistair's place, surely it's better for him if I'm dead. Why would he ask you to protect me?"

"Because he's a fool," said Sereda affectionately. "His advisors told him to get rid of you when he was first crowned, but he wouldn't have it. I think he saw so much death during the Blight that now he hates to cause more of it unless he has no other choice. Stone knows, Alistair and I have had our differences over the years, but I owe him my life dozens of times over. I'll always help him if I can. And it's not like I want you to get killed over any of this, either."

"What is your plan to make sure I don't?"

"Basically? Hide until this all blows over. Eventually, Alistair and his advisors will find a solution that makes the important people happy. He'll name an heir, if he's smart, and find a way to pacify the nobles before anything serious happens. Until then, I have plenty of friends around Ferelden who I trust to keep you safe. When the line of succession is clear and the political dust has settled, we can bring you out of hiding and figure out what to do next."

"You mean when this is all over, you'll send me back to prison."

In the dark, Anora couldn't see Sereda's face, but she could see the way her posture straightened and her shoulders tensed. "I never meant to imply - "

"What else would you do? You want me out of the way as much as any of those nobles do, so I can't create any problems for your friend Alistair. From what you've told me of Fereldan politics, I shouldn't wait things out. I should go to Denerim and try to reclaim my crown."

"I can't let you do that."

"Then you are my enemy. Now that I'm free, why should I stay with you at all?"

"How do you expect you'll survive without me? You're in the middle of nowhere, with no allies and no supplies. Tell me, my lady, how are your wilderness survival skills? When was the last time you built a fire, or hunted or foraged for a meal, or navigated by the stars, or spent a night sleeping rough without a roof over your head? How quickly do you think you can learn these things if the Stonewater guard doesn't track you down first?"

Anora knew Sereda was right, but didn't want to give her the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, she glowered into the night while Sereda continued, "The inn isn't far. We can argue about this later, when we don't risk giving ourselves away. I'm not expecting you to like me, my lady, or to like anything about this. But please believe me when I tell you I'm doing all of this because I want you to survive."

Sereda's words were cold comfort, but Anora clung to them nevertheless. _If she wanted me dead, she would have killed me already. For some reason, she needs me alive - and I need that, too. No dead queen ever sat on a throne._ Yet her heart sank to understand that despite the broad expanse of sky over her head and the lack of walls entombing her, she was still just as much a prisoner as she had been in Stonewater Castle. She would be patient, then, in the way the past decade had taught her to do, and wait until the proper time came to make a move.

Soon after, Anora and Sereda came to a shabby, nameless inn at the end of the road, its sagging roof and weathered log walls lit dimly in orange by a perimeter of torches. Sereda walked confidently through the front door and led Anora to a rickety staircase in one corner of the decrepit building. The common room contained a rough-and-tumble clientele who paid no mind to a well-dressed human in the company of a road-weary dwarf. Evidently, this was the sort of inn whose patrons had learned not to ask too many questions or look too closely at their fellow travelers. Sereda handed a few coins to an elderly elf sitting at the bottom of the stairs, then continued upward and into one of the tiny bedrooms crowded into the drafty loft above.

Sereda dropped her pack, barred the door, let out a heavy sigh of relief, and collapsed onto the single narrow bed which somehow filled almost the entire room. "We made it. Now all we have to do is wait." She kicked off her boots and wrestled free of her armor before burrowing under the bed's moth-eaten blankets. "I'm going to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same."

Anora could not disguise her discomfort. "In here? With you?"

"Indeed. I know it's not the style you're accustomed to, my lady, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances. The advantage of having been rescued by me rather than by my qunari friend is that there ought to be enough space for you in the bed."

Anora stifled a yawn. It had been a long and exciting day, and she knew she needed rest badly. She paused just long enough to blow out the single lantern by the door so she wouldn't see the stains on the sheets or the dirt in the corners before she removed her outerwear and climbed into bed beside Sereda. The mattress was lumpy and the pillow smelled of sweat and pipe smoke, but she was so tired that even these shortcomings could not prevent her from spiraling down into a deep and dreamless sleep. Sereda's already-unconscious form made a warm and solid wall at her back. As strange a bedfellow as she was, the steady heat radiating from her compact body made the chill of the room much less bothersome. _I wonder what her plan really is - and if she has one,_ Anora thought groggily. Then exhaustion overcame her and she thought no more.


	3. Chapter 3

Anora startled awake some time later to the sound of insistent banging at the door. A wave of disorientation washed over her as the unfamiliar sounds and smells of the inn flooded back into her consciousness. The windowless room was pitch black, and she had no idea how long she'd slept. Where was her canopy bed, her silky nightgown, the scent of hot tea on her breakfast tray and the bright morning light peeking through the gauzy curtains? _Gone forever,_ said a forlorn voice in her mind, but she suppressed it. If the price of her freedom was the loss of the creature comforts of her erstwhile prison, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

The bed shuddered as Sereda jumped out of it. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet. "Who's there?" she called.

"It's me," said a masculine voice from the other side. "Let me in."

Apparently this was reason enough for Sereda to immediately unbar the door. Anora squinted against the light from outside as a short, stocky figure entered, then barricaded himself inside the room. By the faint glow of the lantern he carried, she took in his red-brown hair and broad dwarven features. Judging by the way he and Sereda clasped each other warmly by the shoulders, they knew each other well. "My lady," said Sereda, turning to Anora, "I'd like you to meet my second, Gorim Saelac."

"A pleasure to meet you," said Anora, sitting up straight in the bed as long-neglected instincts of courtly behavior slowly stirred within her.

"The pleasure's all mine," said Gorim, but he sounded distracted and the deep lines on his brow spoke of something weighing on his mind.

Sereda noticed it, too. "All right, Gorim, you're acting strangely. Tell me what's wrong."

"With the plan we made? Nothing. All the arrangements are in place, and we can leave whenever you're ready. But with what I've just learned, I'm not sure if you…"

"What happened? Just tell me."

"King Harrowmont is dead," Gorim blurted out.

A hush descended over the group. Sereda's face had gone ashen, and her mouth hung open. Anora racked her brain to access her admittedly limited knowledge of recent dwarven history, trying to process the implications of Gorim's announcement. She vaguely remembered the succession crisis that had plagued Orzammar during the Blight. Sereda herself had helped resolve it in favor of Harrowmont. _In fact, she favored Harrowmont over her own brother. I wonder what that was all about._ Harrowmont was well-known to be traditional and isolationist, and after Anora's imprisonment the trickle of news she'd managed to access from Orzammar had dried up entirely. Since the end of the Blight, the dwarves had been more secretive than ever. _Sereda has to know more than me. I'll need to convince her to talk._

"What happened to him?" Sereda finally said in a small voice.

"No one really knows," said Gorim. "You'll recall he'd been sick for a long time. One day he took to his bed and just...didn't get up. Some people say it was poison, but they would have said that regardless of what happened. You know how Orzammar gossip can be."

"I certainly do," said Sereda. "Tell me he remarried, Gorim. Tell me there's an obvious heir for the deshyrs to name."

"I can tell you that if you want, but it'd be a lie. He never did marry again after Lady Tercy passed. Not that I'm sure it would have mattered if he did. Dwarven fertility isn't what it used to be."

"Leaving it to the Assembly to advance a new candidate."

"If they can settle on one. The last I heard, they're completely deadlocked."

"What a surprise," said Sereda dryly. She turned to Anora. "Looks like there's been a slight change in plans, my lady. You're still going into hiding, but not in Ferelden. I'm taking you with me to Orzammar."

" _What?!_ " Anora blurted out.

Gorim sounded equally appalled. "I thought you said you'd never go back to Orzammar, Sereda."

"Believe me, I wish I didn't have to."

"But...everybody there thinks you're dead."

Sereda scoffed. "Harrowmont had me _declared_ dead. There's a difference. And anyway, those deshyrs will understand the truth once they see me. As a living Paragon, I'm entitled to a seat in the Assembly, and I intend to use it."

"Sereda…"

"You know I need to do this, Gorim. For all that I'd rather stay out of it, if Harrowmont didn't even have the good sense to make a succession plan, how much of a mess do you think everything else is in down there? How long do you think it will take them to choose a new ruler without me? When they do, will the one they choose be even remotely competent? And how many other dwarves will suffer while they deliberate? I fixed Orzammar once already. I guess I'll just have to fix it again."

"Just don't forget your promise to King Alistair. You're supposed to be keeping Lady Anora safe, not running off to play at dwarven politics."

"Harrowmont locked Orzammar up tight. From what you told me, they don't even let many surface dwarves come down anymore - and forget about humans. There's no way they'd let strangers from Ferelden in. What safer place could there be?"

" _I'm_ a stranger from Ferelden," Anora pointed out.

"So what?" said Sereda. "I'm a Paragon. They'll let you in if I say they should."

Gorim sighed. "I can see I won't talk you out of this. I suppose I'll just have to come along and watch your back, then."

Sereda grinned. "I knew I could count on you, old friend."

"You always can, against my better judgment. Get ready, and I'll bring the carriage around."

There were few preparations to be made. _Astonishing how rapidly my circumstances can change,_ Anora mused as she put on her cloak and shoes. The day before, she had seen no reason to believe she would ever leave Stonewater Castle alive. Twelve hours after that she had been fleeing through the night, her thoughts spinning with dreams of reclaiming the crown she had believed lost to her forever. Now it seemed she would end up among the dwarves, in a kingdom completely unknown to her, with no idea of what might come next. All she could do was stay alert to her surroundings and be ready to seize the moment when and if it came.

Sereda ushered Anora out of the room, down the stairs, and out to the stables where the promised carriage was waiting. The bright sun told her it was mid-morning already. Gorim sat in the box in the front, holding the reins of a pair of black horses and looking concerned. "We should hurry," he said. "I think the people at the castle are on to us."

"Agreed," said Sereda with a glance at the path they'd come in on. Two riders in the livery of Stonewater Castle were trotting out of the woods, scanning their surroundings with their hands on the pommels of their swords. Before she could be spotted, Anora climbed up into the carriage with Sereda behind her. They had barely closed the door before Gorim urged the horses forward with a tap of the reins. The carriage lurched forward and rapidly rattled down the road that would take Anora away from everything she had ever known.


	4. Chapter 4

Gorim drove on without stopping until Sereda was confident they hadn't been followed. Even so, when they finally stopped for the night, she had Gorim park the carriage behind a pile of brush. They led the animals some distance into the forest before Sereda announced that they'd reach their campsite. Anora sat uselessly beside the campfire while Gorim and Sereda pitched a tent, groomed the horses and turned them loose to graze, scavenged for firewood, and prepared a simple meal from their store of provisions. "I'm hoping the clues I planted in your room at Stonewater will send most of the search parties to the south for a while," Sereda said to Gorim as they ate, "but we should probably set up watches just in case."

"I'd rather get up early than stay up late," said Gorim. "You mind taking the first one?"

Anora surprised herself by speaking up. "I can take the first watch." Then, upon seeing Sereda and Gorim's confused expressions: "You're saving my life. This is the least I can do to repay you. After all, I want you to be well-rested for whatever we face next." She _did_ want to help, but more than that she knew gaining their trust would make many things easier later.

Sereda's eyes narrowed in uncertainty, but she finally said, "All right, go ahead. Wake me up when you get tired." She and Gorim retreated to the tent shortly thereafter.

The watch was long but uneventful. Anora had nothing to do but feed sticks to the fire and stare into the empty night, alone with her thoughts. Fortunately, her long confinement at Stonewater had prepared her well for such tasks. She welcomed the opportunity to prove herself trustworthy as she calculated her next move.

The vastness of the world outside her prison terrified her if she thought too hard about it. Every scenario she considered for how to elude her various captors and slip away unnoticed into it ended in abject failure. Even if she could escape Gorim and Sereda's constant vigilance, she doubted she would get far before they or someone else caught up to her. Even if she could somehow steal provisions, she would not survive the wilderness alone for long. Stonewater Castle was isolated to begin with, and the road to Orzammar only led farther away from human civilization. She had to stay where she was. Like it or not, her fate was bound to Sereda's now, and to whatever might await them in the dwarven kingdom. For now, she would do what was necessary to survive, gather information, and make her move as soon as her situation was more stable.

So Anora took advantage of her party's developing routine, doing nothing to upset the rhythm of lengthy carriage rides during the day and primitive camping by night. She stood watch without complaining, stayed near Sereda and Gorim at all times, did as she was told - and tried to learn whatever she could. The monotony of travel worked in her favor. Most of the time they kept the carriage's shutters closed lest anybody recognize Anora on the road, cutting off their view of the surrounding landscape. With Gorim driving the carriage in the front, Sereda had few options for passing the time except talking to Anora. She kept the conversation as light as she could, breezy and brief and never touching on issues of real significance, until Anora had finally had enough and asked the first of several questions that had been weighing on her mind throughout the journey. "Can you tell me more about what's happening in Orzammar? You said there was a succession crisis."

"That's not your problem," Sereda said flatly. "Why do you care anyway?"

"It may not be my problem right now, but I could very easily _make_ it mine by saying or doing the wrong thing because I don't understand. You should at least explain the basics to me so I don't make it worse for you."

"Point taken. I suppose I should, then. How much do you know already?"

"Very little, beyond what I heard from you and Gorim at the inn. I know King Harrowmont is - _was_ \- a very traditional man. He wanted to protect dwarven culture, and closed off most trade between Orzammar and the surface. And I know you were responsible for putting him on the throne."

"That's all accurate, yes."

"You said Harrowmont had no offspring. Will the noble votes for the next monarch, then?"

"More or less, yes. There's no automatic inheritance in Orzammar. It always comes to a vote. The Assembly can always reject anyone they don't deem fit to rule. But if the previous king or queen had a child who seems vaguely competent, sometimes that makes it easy. This time around, they don't have that luxury, which is probably why it's gotten interesting down there."

"Why do you suppose they haven't been able to make their choice?"

"It's been a long time since I sat in on an Assembly session, so I can't know for sure. But if I had to guess? Same old, same old. Grudges and factions die hard in Orzammar. More than likely, it's the usual bullshit that had them deadlocked on Bhelen versus Harrowmont all those years ago. Tradition against reform and all that."

The mention of Bhelen emboldened Anora to pursue a new topic. "Bhelen was your brother, wasn't he?"

Sereda nodded curtly, her face an inscrutable mask. "Sure was."

"I apologize if this is a sensitive subject, but...why didn't you support his coronation?"

"Look. My brother would have been a terrible king. Everybody in Orzammar knew it, except maybe a few dwarves who were too blinded by his charm to admit it. But he thought it was his Stone-given right to rule, and he didn't care how many bodies he had to step over to get there. I'm not going to put somebody like that in charge just because they happen to share a bloodline with the last person to do the job."

"That makes sense," said Anora, even as she bitterly thought, _Although that's exactly what you did with Alistair._

"Anyway, even without an obvious Harrowmont heir, I'm sure there are plenty of options in the noble caste. Some better than others, of course. I'll do what I can to help the best dwarf win."

"And what if the best dwarf is yourself?"

"Very funny, my lady. If you truly believe that's an option on the table, you know even less about dwarven politics than you think. You'll find I'm not popular with everyone in Orzammar. I'm going down there to use my vote and my remaining influence in the Assembly to help put things right. Nothing more."

Sereda's tone of grim finality told Anora she shouldn't continue the conversation. But as the carriage bumped along the deeply rutted mountain path, Anora compared Sereda's words to her earlier grandiose pronouncements to Gorim and thought, _She said she didn't think they'd crown her, not that she didn't want the job._

After nearly a week on the road, the carriage reached Gherlen's Pass. As the gateway to Orzammar, the region saw enough traffic to support a small settlement at the foot of the final ascent to the main gates. Gorim took advantage of the chance to reserve a room at an inn for the night, passing a fistful of coins to the innkeeper to ensure that she'd respect their privacy. "These mountains are too steep for the carriage to go over them," he explained as they ate dinner in the common room. "We'll have to hire mules to bring us up the rest of the way. I'll see to it that they're ready in the morning. Until then, I suggest you make yourselves comfortable."

Getting clean was the only thing on Anora's mind. She didn't think she'd ever gone this long without bathing or changing all her clothes. She gladly consigned her undergarments and her filthy dress to a washerwoman and made her way to the local baths. There, she scrubbed herself until her wet hair squeaked and her skin was pink and nearly raw. For a long time she soaked contentedly in the hot water, luxuriating in warmth and cleanliness. Then the bathhouse door swung open, bringing with it a blast of cold air from outside, along with Sereda Aeducan.

"You've got the right idea," Sereda said as she slipped out of the robe the attendant had given her, unconcerned by her nudity. Anora could not help noticing her compact and muscular body, crisscrossed by the many scars of a long career with the Grey Wardens. She let out a delighted groan as she sank into the tub. "Stone, that feels good."

Sereda dunked her head beneath the steaming water and held it there for a long time. When she came up, she began to take down the tight braids holding up her hair. She struggled to pick out the snarls and tangles at the back of her head. Anora picked up the comb she'd just finished using on herself and moved closer to Sereda. "Here, let me help," she said, not entirely sure why she'd made the offer.

"Thanks." Sereda's shoulders visibly relaxed as Anora tugged the comb steadily through her wet hair.

Sharing the bath was uncomfortably intimate. Anora had to do something to take her mind off of it. "Warden-Commander? May I ask you a question?"

"Sure. I can't promise I have an answer."

"A few days ago, in the carriage, you mentioned you weren't well-liked in Orzammar. Why?"

"Why do you care about that?" Sereda's tone was light, but tension had begun to creep back into her posture.

"When I'm in Orzammar, I'll be under your protection. If the people there might take their feelings toward you out on me, I'd like to know about it beforehand."

"That's not going to happen."

Anora had heard enough. "How can I believe you if you won't tell me what to expect?"

Sereda pulled away and turned in the tub to face Anora. "What is your problem? I don't expect you to be my friend, but is it too much to ask for you to just trust my decisions?"

"You mean, trust the same decisions that killed my father?"

"Your father's own decisions killed your father."

The room fell utterly silent but for the distant drip of water and the howling mountain winds outside. "I beg your pardon," Anora said icily.

She hadn't really meant for Sereda to elaborate, but it didn't stop her. "Loghain _begged_ me to let him kill the Archdemon. He said it was the only way he could atone for what he'd done, and...well...who was I to argue? In truth, your father died a hero, which is more than I could tell you if Alistair had gotten his way. Surely you remember? You were there in the room, after all."

"I was." Anora would never forget the Landsmeet, or the duel, or Alistair's sharp sword poised over her father's bare neck, or Warden Riordan's last-minute arrival and the hushed, intense discussion that had ensued. None of it had made any difference for her in the end. _How could she have seen the goodness in my father and angered her own companions to fight for his life, then turn around and let him die days later? How could she defy Alistair in this and still choose him over me? It makes no sense._

"And before that," Sereda continued, "when he seized power, when he betrayed the Wardens at Ostagar...I saw a side of your father that you never did. I know he loved you with all his heart, but that doesn't mean he would have been a good king."

"He was never going to be king and he knew it. Don't act like you took the throne away from him when we both know you really took it away from _me_."

"Ferelden needed a new beginning - "

"A new beginning that came at my expense."

With a single violent movement Sereda heaved herself out of the tub. "This conversation is going nowhere," she muttered. She put on her robe and stomped toward the door, water streaming from her hair and skin. "Enjoy your bath, my lady."

"How has that new beginning worked out for you, anyway?" Anora called after Sereda's retreating back. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the rim of the tub. Getting under Sereda's skin had given her some momentary satisfaction, but it had done nothing to help her understand the Warden-Commander's true motivations. She had so much more to learn. But she had little time to consider how she might go about that task before the bathhouse door banged open again. Sereda was there, fully dressed now, looking worried. "What are you - ?" Anora began.

"There's no time, my lady. Your enemies have caught up to us. We need to leave for Orzammar. Now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently you can't actually make Loghain a Warden while having Alistair rule alone? Whatever, slap a "minor canon divergence" tag on it and call it good.


	5. Chapter 5

Three sturdy mules trudged tirelessly up the mountain slope toward Orzammar with Anora, Sereda, and Gorim hunched and shivering on their backs. Anora's damp hair had frozen against her scalp in the chill of an unexpected late autumn snowstorm. Between the darkness and the blowing snow, she could barely see the rocky path in front of them. She hoped Sereda and Gorim knew where they were going - and that their pursuers didn't.

Anora expected to ride through the night without resting until they reached Orzammar's gates. But after only a few hours, Gorim led the mules off the trail and guided them deeper into the forest. "Why are we stopping?" she asked.

"We can't travel safely in this," Gorim replied. "The good news is, neither can they. There's a spot up ahead where we can wait out the storm."

He took them to a cave not far from the path, its entrance hidden well enough by rocks and fallen brush that Anora doubted anyone could have found it without already knowing its location. It would have been a cramped space even without three mules, two dwarves, and a human inside, but she welcomed the crude shelter nonetheless.

Gorim did not stay long in the cave. "I'm going to get firewood," he said as he pushed the concealing branches aside. "Maybe scout a bit while I'm out there."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Sereda. "The storm's getting worse."

"It's a better idea than freezing to death. Don't worry. I won't be long."

Sereda seemed to find it difficult to accept Gorim's advice. She paced around the confines of the cave, ceaselessly circling the small fire he had built. The air around them was heavy with more than just the mingled scents of woodsmoke and livestock. "I'm sure Gorim will be fine," said Anora, trying to calm Sereda's restlessness. "He seems to know what he's doing."

"He does. I'm not worried about him. I'm more worried about what will happen when we get to Orzammar."

_Why is she confiding in me all of a sudden?_ "You said we would be safe there."

"I thought we would be. But Gorim's been checking in with some of his contacts along the way, and things are even worse than he expected. Harrowmont was never a very trusting fellow, but toward the end of his life things got...extreme. He and the Assembly passed a slate of laws restricting the rights of casteless and surface dwarves, and forbidding non-dwarves from entering Orzammar for any reason. I guess it was supposed to protect trade or something. It's bad, my lady. I figured for sure they'd let you in if I told them you were with me. Now I'm not so sure."

"So we can't go to Orzammar, then."

"No, we have to. I still need to set things right there. Even if I didn't, the people who are after you would be just as happy to kill me for helping you as to kill you for being in Alistair's way. I need the dwarves' protection almost as much as you do."

"If you leave me here…"

"That's not going to happen. I made a promise to Alistair to defend you, and I swore by the Stone that I would keep it. I will not break my word. I just need to get a little creative."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Sereda had stopped pacing and now stood beside Anora, looking up into her eyes. "I can think of one other way to get you into Orzammar."

"Which is?"

Sereda took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and said, "I need you to marry me."

There was a long pause. "You must be joking," Anora said at last.

"I'm not. Orzammar dwarves take marriage very seriously. No matter what the letter of the law might say, if they keep to its spirit, there's no way they'd separate me from a human spouse. And they will. So if I tell them you're my wife...they'll have to let you in, and you'll be safe."

"Oh. So you just want me to lie for you, then. I can do that."

"It's not nearly so straightforward, my lady. No marriage between nobles is considered valid until the Shaperate records it in the Memories. That's my excuse to get you through the gates. I'll tell them we married on the surface and we're coming back to Orzammar to make it official. Only the real thing will give you the protection you need. So once the Shaper of Memories writes it on the Wall, we're stuck together, until death parts us."

"You cannot possibly ask me to do this," said Anora. It wasn't only her dislike of Anora, or her suspicions regarding the usefulness of marriage in general, but the knowledge of how this decision would affect her future. The nobles of Ferelden would never accept a non-human queen. With a dwarf as her spouse, Anora would sacrifice all hope of reclaiming her crown as long as they were wed. _Did Sereda know this? Was it part of her plan all along?_

"Do you think I would have asked you if there was any other way? Everything I've done has been to save your life. Help me keep you alive, my lady. _Please._ "

_She wouldn't lie to me about this. It has to be done._ Anora sighed with resignation. _I suppose laws and traditions can be changed. Death can't be._ "Very well. If there is really no other choice, I'll marry you if I must."

Relief washed over Sereda's face. "Thank you. I'll make sure you don't regret this."

"You can't promise that."

"Watch me." Sereda knelt down beside the low flickering flames of the campfire and began picking through the rocks surrounding it.

"What are you doing?"

"Making it official." She straightened up and extended her hand to Anora. A small, unassuming chunk of grey granite lay in her open palm. "One nice thing about being a dwarf is you don't need anyone else around to preside over your wedding vows. You just swear them on the Stone, wherever you are."

Anora stared down at the rock, feeling profoundly uncomfortable. "We have no witnesses," she said. "Why should it matter what we say if we're both just playing a part?"

"It matters to me," said Sereda. "These vows may be just words to you, my lady - but for dwarves, our words _are_ our deeds. The Memories make that plain. So I'm not going to lie to the sentries, and the Assembly, and the Shaper, and everyone else, and tell them I swore an oath I never swore. You can say whatever _you_ want, but this is what _I'm_ saying."

"Go ahead, then." The moment had taken on a strange and unexpected solemnity, and Anora wanted nothing more than to be free of it as soon as possible.

And Sereda spoke, weakly at first, then with increasing volume and confidence. "I, Sereda Aeducan, take you, Anora Mac Tir, to be my wife. I pledge myself to you of my own free will. Let our lives be joined together as one, so that what is mine will also be yours. I promise to honor and protect you, forsaking all others, for as long as we both shall live. This I swear before the Stone."

Silence echoed through the cave. Anora could only stare at the rock in Sereda's hand, feeling heat in her cheeks and hearing the pounding of her own heart in her ears. _What have I gotten myself into?_ "And you?" Sereda prompted her softly.

"Yes. I take you as my wife. I join you in the vows you have made." Anora's tongue felt thick and sluggish as it formed the words that sealed her fate. "Are we finished?"

"If you want to be." Sereda closed her fist around the rock, then seemed to think better of it and tossed it away into the back of the cave. "I don't know much about human wedding traditions. So if there's anything you need to do to make this official in your sight, say the word."

"Well, I married Cailan in a chantry and not a cave, but I don't think ours is the sort of union a Revered Mother would bless. Ordinarily the ceremony would finish with a kiss, but under the circumstances…"

"Well, say no more, then." Before Anora could stop her, Sereda rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against Anora's. It happened so quickly that at first Anora wondered if she had imagined it. But all through the long cold night ahead, the memory of that brief and chaste kiss would burn against her mouth as hotly as the deep red coals of the fire. She doubted she would ever forget it. She wondered if she would ever stop being marked by the promises Sereda insisted on making to her.


	6. Chapter 6

"I am Paragon Sereda Aeducan and this is my wife. You will admit us to Orzammar at once."

The sentry, cowed and astonished, nodded frantically as he threw a lever. The enormous stone gates of Orzammar, ornately carved into the mountainside and stretching up for dozens of feet above Anora's head, spread apart with a deafening rumble. Anora risked a glance over her shoulder. The soldiers who pursued them, clad in the livery of Stonewater Castle, were closer now than ever before. "Stop right there!" one of them shouted as Anora, Sereda, and Gorim passed through the tiny gap between the two opening doors. Any further commands were drowned out by the heavy slam of the gate swinging decisively shut. For better or worse, Anora had reached a place where her old enemies could no longer follow her.

Anora's breath caught when she saw what awaited her within. A vast hall, cavernous and high-ceilinged, stretched deep beneath the mountain. Glowing crystalline orbs produced no smoke but lit the space to the ceiling in dim orange. Colorful banners hung from ornately carved stone columns. A broad walkway ran down the center of the room, lined on either side by beautiful and imposing statues of dwarves. The hall was cool, dry, and as silent as a chantry.

Sereda was not the slightest bit awed by the masterworks of sculpture surrounding her. With determination, she marched toward a smaller set of double doors at the far end of the room, never once sparing a glance at anything else. Gorim, however, noticed Anora's awed expression. "This is the Hall of Heroes," he whispered. "Every Paragon has a statue here to honor them."

"Including the Warden-Commander?"

Gorim frowned and jerked his thumb toward the end of the left row. The statue he'd indicated was a finely carved likeness of Sereda, wearing Grey Warden armor and holding a dagger in each fist. But Anora couldn't help noticing how its scale was less grand than its neighbors, its pose less dramatic and heroic, its marble dull and flawed in spots. _Maybe Sereda_ was _right about the nobles here not liking her._

The guard at the inner doors was not as easily swayed by Sereda's title. "The Assembly is already in session," they were saying as Anora approached. "They don't want to be interrupted."

"I'm a member of the noble caste and a Paragon," said Sereda. "A seat in the Assembly is my right. I can't interrupt it if I'm a part of it."

The guard sighed. "The Assembly won't see it that way, but I can tell you don't care. You may as well come in." They threw another lever and the second set of doors opened.

Anora gasped loudly at what she saw on the other side. She had imagined Orzammar as a dark, cramped warren of tunnels, inhospitable to humans and too small to accommodate them. She could not have been more wrong. Just through the entrance was a massive cavern, stretching out in all directions as far as she could see, its ceiling arched hundreds of feet above her head. The dwarves had carved their shops and dwellings into all levels of the living rock and connected them with a complex network of bridges and staircases. White light with no obvious source illuminated every nook and cranny. No human had ever built anything so grand.

But there was no time to gawk. Sereda and Gorim walked briskly down one branch of the corridor as if this place were ordinary to them - because, of course, it was. Anora trailed behind them, feeling superfluous and confused, as they shoved their way past a flock of feebly objecting attendants. Finally Sereda stopped before another set of stone doors and steeled herself before she pushed them open. _These must be the Assembly chambers. I wonder what we'll find inside._

At first glance, the Assembly greatly resembled a gathering of the Landsmeet. Galleries full of dozens of dwarves lined the walls of a large room with a mostly empty floor at its center. An ornate stone throne, notably vacant, dominated one wall. Two dwarven men - one with reddish-brown hair and beard, one with black - stood in the middle of the chamber, engrossed in something resembling a mixture between a formal debate and a shouting match. Anora would never know precisely what they had been discussing, however, because they stopped the instant the door swung open. Both dwarves spun to face the new arrivals as they entered. "Am I interrupting something?" Sereda asked calmly.

"Paragon Aeducan," the red-headed dwarf stammered. "I thought you were dead."

"Come now, Baizyl," said the black-haired dwarf. "You know that was only a story my Uncle Pyral told the common folk to keep himself in power. Any _thinking_ dwarf knew this day would come - and I, for one, am glad to see it." He bared his teeth in a brilliant smile that might have set most people at ease but sent a chill down Anora's spine. It was a practiced and calculated expression, carefully selected to convey bland and benign acceptance to those who didn't care to play the games of nobility, and confident superiority to those who did. _I'll have to be cautious around this one._ "I suspect you don't know who I am. Don't worry - I don't expect you to. Things have changed in the decade you've been away." He extended his hand. Sereda didn't take it. "I'm Renvil Harrowmont, nephew to our late monarch - and, if this Assembly has any sense, the next ruler of Orzammar."

"I know who you are," said Sereda. "I just didn't expect to see you in the Assembly hall. The last time I was here, you were nobody."

Renvil ignored the subtle yet calculated insult. "As I said, Paragon, much has changed in Orzammar."

The other dwarf - Baizyl - was looking past Sereda and Renvil to Anora. "I don't believe any of us have met your companion, Paragon Aeducan," he said in a deceptively casual tone.

"This is Anora Mac Tir, a noblewoman of Ferelden," said Sereda, "and my wife."

A murmur of surprise ran through the Assembly. Anora felt her face reddening and fought to keep her expression neutral. Renvil smirked. "You've really made marriage vows to this...human?"

"We swore them on the Stone," said Sereda. "We came to Orzammar to record them in the Memories. But it's my understanding that House Aeducan is represented only by an acting deshyr at present. I'm sure Piotin has done a lovely job in my absence, but as long as I'm here I may as well reclaim my seat. So tell me, what are we debating today?"

"Nothing that you would be informed enough to vote on," Renvil snapped, at the same time that Baizyl said, "Reopening the Commons to the casteless."

"Interesting," said Sereda. Baizyl pressed his lips together in a thin line, the tension in his jaw suggesting that he knew he'd said too much.

"I move to adjourn today's session," said Renvil.

"Seconded," said Baizyl immediately thereafter. Anora suppressed a wicked smile. _These two don't agree on much, but they can agree that they don't want Sereda upsetting things._

"All nobles present, vote on the motion at hand," an elderly dwarven man called out. The dwarves in the galleries manipulated something on the surfaces of the desks in front of them. Lights blinked on in front of each seat - mostly blue, with a few yellow. Sereda, lacking a formal seat from which to weigh in, held out one downturned thumb. "The motion carries. The Assembly is adjourned." The dwarf brought down a heavy gavel on the desk before him. The clap of stone against stone sounded out, and the nobles rose as one and moved toward the chamber's exits. Baizyl slipped away through a side door, but Renvil went out of his way to shove his way past Sereda, glowering as he went.

"What just happened?" asked Anora.

"They don't know what to do about me, so they're taking a break until they can figure it out," said Sereda. "As much as I would have liked them to waste the day bickering, at least this buys me some time to get my bearings. Looks like I've got a lot of work to do. Let's get out of here."

Anora followed Sereda and Gorim back into the twisting halls of what Gorim termed the Diamond Quarter, ending up at the headquarters of the Shaperate. Anora didn't understand every nuance of the conversation Sereda conducted there with a bored-looking clerk, but it ended with Sereda exasperated and the clerk handing her a lyrium-inscribed piece of stone and telling her to come back later. "Stone-crushed Orzammar bureaucracy," Sereda muttered as they departed. "Apparently when you're a Paragon the Lord Shaper has to record your marriage himself, and he's busy right now. It'll get done. Eventually."

"Is that going to be a problem?" asked Anora.

"I named you as my wife before the Assembly and nobody challenged it. What's accepted there among the nobles has the force of law, no matter how long it takes for the Lord Shaper to get around to the memory-work. Now that you're in Orzammar, you're safe. Or at least, you're safe from the sorts of problems where your legal status would make a difference."

"That's not especially comforting."

Sereda's smile was joyless. "You know I don't like lying, my lady." 

They left the main avenue of the Diamond Quarter and entered a peaceful residential area. Gorim took a stone key from his pocket and opened one of the many identical doors that lined the quiet side street. "Is this the house they gave you when they made you a noble?" asked Sereda.

"The very same," said Gorim. "I don't get much use out of it with my wife and daughters living on the surface, but at times like this, I'm glad it's here."

"Thank you for bringing us here."

"For you, friend, it's the least I can do."

Gorim's house was tidy and attractively furnished, but not especially spacious by Anora's standards. She suspected dwarves might feel differently. Gone were the vaulted ceilings and broad avenues of the common areas. Anora was not tall for a human, but here, the ceiling nearly brushed the top of her head. Gorim promptly retreated from the main living area toward one of the bedrooms, saying, "I need some rest in a proper bed before I do anything else. I'd suggest the two of you do the same. There are nice guest quarters across the hall from me."

It wasn't until Anora entered the room Gorim had indicated and saw its single bed that she understood what he'd meant. She turned to Sereda in disbelief. "Surely even in our own house we don't have to…?"

"Keep up appearances?" said Sereda. "I'm afraid so. This house employs a cook and a chambermaid, and you know how servants can gossip. We shouldn't do anything to jeopardize your position here, my lady. For now, I don't know about you, but I'm going to take Gorim's advice and get some sleep."

The bed, like all the rest of the furniture, was built to a scale more comfortable for dwarves than humans. Even with her knees bent, Anora's feet pushed against the footboard when she lay down. Worse yet, the mattress was so narrow that she could find no position that kept her from feeling the full firm line of Sereda's body against hers. "Can't we take turns sleeping on the floor?" Anora grumbled as she wrestled with the coverlet, which barely covered both of them.

"You first," retorted Sereda. Anora looked down at the thin nughide rug spread out beside the bed and remembered how hard and cold the stone floor had felt against her bare feet. She sighed and dropped her head back onto the pillow. Sereda snorted. "That's what I thought."

"Just keep your elbows out of my ribs and I'll survive."

"Some wedding night this is."

Sereda did something to a spot on the wall near the bed. The warm yellow light abruptly extinguished, plunging the room into a darkness more absolute than any Anora had ever experienced. "Sereda?" said Anora in alarm, but the dwarf was already asleep and snoring. _There's no way I can do this,_ she thought, but the weariness she felt dragged her down into sleep before she could worry about anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've forgotten who Baizyl and Renvil Harrowmont are, like I had until I found them on the Dragon Age fan wiki: Baizyl shows up in an Orzammar sidequest in Origins if you initially side with Harrowmont, being blackmailed out of fighting in the Proving. Renvil makes a brief appearance in a Dragon Age II sidequest that you only get if you made Bhelen king in Origins. Thanks, dragonage.wikia.com for teaching me something new every day!


	7. Chapter 7

It was still pitch dark in the bedroom when Anora woke again. She couldn't tell whether she had been asleep for minutes, or hours, or days. The blackness around her was absolute - like a grave, or perhaps more like a womb. The bed seemed more spacious than it had when she first lay down in it, and she realized with a start that Sereda was no longer beside her. For a moment she felt the full weight of the mountain above her and the closeness of the rock around her, and how very far away she was from the light and air of the surface. A chill ran through her and an involuntary, strangled cry escaped her tightening throat.

The door swung open. Anora squinted into the sliver of golden light from the hall. "Is something wrong?" asked Sereda.

"No," said Anora weakly as the room lit up again. "How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Turning the lights on."

"Oh. Sorry. There's a rune on the wall you have to touch." Sereda pointed out a small carving in the stone next to the bed and showed Anora how to move her fingers across it to raise or dim the lights. The fixtures were not lamps or torches, but glowing blocks of a translucent mineral set into the wall itself. "I guess I didn't think to explain it, did I? It's kind of second nature to dwarves."

"I gather that," said Anora dryly. "What time is it? How long was I asleep?"

"It's evening? Maybe? We don't really keep track of time like that in Orzammar. No sun to tell time by, you know. Anyway, are you hungry?"

Anora's stomach growled at the question. "I am, actually."

"Good, because we've got dinner plans. The messenger just left. Baizyl Harrowmont has invited us to dine with him at his home tonight."

"He was one of the people arguing in the Assembly chambers earlier, wasn't he?"

"Yes. King Harrowmont was his cousin. I gather he's Renvil's main rival for kingship."

"Making him a useful dwarf with whom to share dinner."

"My sentiments exactly. Get ready quickly, my lady. We wouldn't want to keep Lord Baizyl waiting."

Soon after, Anora, Sereda, and Gorim stood outside Baizyl's door. It had been a short walk from Gorim's house to Baizyl's, but they had covered considerable social distance. The dwellings in this part of the Diamond Quarter were farther apart, noticeably larger, and more ostentatious than the homes in Gorim's comparatively modest neighborhood. A steward let them in when they knocked and led them to Baizyl's dining room (the ceilings of which, Anora noted, stretched to a height considerably more comfortable for humans). Baizyl was there, lounging in a high-backed leather chair. He greeted Sereda and Gorim with something approximating genuine warmth, and politely kissed Anora's hand when Sereda introduced her. "My congratulations on your marriage, Lady Anora," he said, and indicated the attractive dwarven woman sitting beside him. "My dear Revelka and I are also newlyweds."

Sereda's eyebrows shot up. " _Really_ ," she said, favoring Baizyl with a stony gaze. _Apparently there's something here I'm missing,_ thought Anora.

Baizyl's smile only broadened. "My cousin always rewarded loyalty. And I have been _very_ loyal. I can only hope I inspire the same loyalty in the other deshyrs now that dear Pyral has returned to the Stone."

"I'm sure you do," said Sereda evenly.

"Speaking of weddings," said Revelka, "how _did_ you and Paragon Aeducan meet, Lady Anora? I wonder what cause the Paragon might have had to encounter the exiled widow of a king. Especially considering her longstanding support of King Alistair."

Anora kept her face and posture steady. _She's making a play for dominance - trying to catch me off-guard by showing how much she and Baizyl already know. But if she really knew me, she'd know it won't work._ "Sereda and I have known each other for many years," she said calmly. "Our lives have taken many twists and turns since the Blight ended, and as Warden-Commander, her path crossed with mine again. Eventually it became clear that marriage was right for both of us." She took Anora's hand and gave her what she hoped was an adoring smile. "The rest of it is private. I'm sure you'll understand."

"Indeed," said Baizyl, his tone suggesting he remained unconvinced.

The cook brought out the food before the conversation could continue: a communal platter of some sort of roasted meat, surrounded by an assortment of mushrooms. Baizyl and Revelka dug in without hesitation, but when Sereda moved to fill her plate, Gorim stopped her with a hand on her forearm. He scooped up a small portion of food and pointedly took a bite, staring at Baizyl as he chewed and swallowed. After a while he nodded to Sereda, apparently satisfied, and she wasted no further time in serving herself. Anora did the same. The spices and flavorings of the meal were very different from anything she had ever consumed on the surface, albeit not unpalatable. She avoided the dark green alcohol in the cups, however, since even a whiff of it was potent enough to send her head spinning. The dwarves all drank it down as if it were water.

As they ate, Sereda asked casually, "So how's the bid for the throne going, Baizyl?"

Baizyl cleared his throat. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Come now, Baizyl. We both know you're more than qualified. You're a deshyr, and a charismatic sort, and related to King Harrowmont, too. You even helped me fight the Archdemon and lived to tell the tale. Some dwarves would say you're a genuine hero of Orzammar."

"Perhaps, but I'm no Paragon."

Sereda laughed. "If you think I came here to steal your crown, you're mistaken. I only want to make sure the best dwarf wears it. Why should that be you instead of Renvil?"

"Renvil is a tyrant," snapped Baizyl. "He wants to carry on my cousin's policies as if nothing in Orzammar has changed - or _should_ change. Any fool can see how far that's gotten us. Since the Blight ended we're isolated, fearful - _weaker._ It should have been the other way around now that Ferelden is at peace. Instead, the king made sure no one but his favorites could profit from trade, and we let our ties to the surface waste away."

"It seems you and Renvil have done well for yourselves regardless."

"That's beside the point. The current situation is untenable. Something has to change."

"You're a reformer then, I take it? Like my brother was."

"Not necessarily. Don't get me wrong - I value tradition as much as any deshyr, but my uncle's protectionism went far beyond that. His policies were so strict, they caused a famine - here! In the Diamond Quarter! It wasn't until he died that the Assembly saw reason and loosened his restrictions enough to replenish the storehouses. It's a start, but it needs to go farther. We must rebuild our trading partnerships, or all of us will perish."

"Hence the debate on reopening the commons to the casteless."

"Why would anyone oppose it?" asked Anora. "Surely your merchants need as many potential customers as possible."

"The casteless are thieves," said Revelka mildly, "or worse. Since their movements have been restricted, crime rates are down all across Orzammar."

"I see," said Anora, but she thought, _You can't have it both ways, Baizyl. No kingdom can enrich itself through commerce without also trusting its subjects to trade freely. At least you have the good sense to recognize you've made a mistake by supporting this nonsense in the first place, and to take steps to correct it before it gets worse._

"Surface dwarves are casteless, too," Sereda pointed out. "Orzammar relies on the resources they sell - much more so than the surface relies upon luxuries from Orzammar. If your policies don't allow the surfacers to bring their goods down to trade, you'll strangle the entire economy. There won't be any crime to speak up, sure, but it will be because everyone has starved."

"Indeed," said Baizyl. "That's why I introduced the proposal to relax the original restrictions. Even dusters need to eat, and letting the cloudgazers come down long enough to restart the flow of goods will benefit all of us in the end. Even Renvil knows it's a good idea, but he and his allies have been blocking it from coming to the floor for a vote. He needs to play the champion of law and order if he's going to keep his support among the most conservative deshyrs, and he doesn't want to give me the victory when the motion passes. If he does, it could cost him the throne."

"But if someone else were to reintroduce it and gather the necessary support..."

"Precisely. But tread cautiously, Paragon Aeducan. You're on loose sand. Even if this motion passes, the Assembly remains deadlocked on the question of Orzammar's rulership. The last time Steward Bandelor called the matter to a vote, with Renvil and myself abstaining, thirty-nine deshyrs supported Renvil and thirty-nine supported me."

"Intriguing. Might I ask how my cousin Piotin voted?"

"Why, he voted for me, of course."

"Very interesting," said Sereda, and pursed her lips. All at once Anora understood exactly why Baizyl had invited them to dinner. _With Sereda taking over Piotin's seat, if she switches her vote to Renvil, Baizyl is done for. He needs to know where he stands with her, but he can't afford to anger her lest she turn on him. But he also wants to make it clear that he can cause trouble for her if she doesn't support him._

The rest of the meal passed without incident. After saying their polite farewells to Baizyl and Revelka, Gorim led Anora and Sereda back to his house. Sereda spent the short walk lost in thought, then retreated to the bedroom with Anora on her heels. "You've got your sword at Baizyl's throat and he knows it," Anora said to her as soon as the door closed.

Sereda did not look surprised. "I should have known you'd grasp the nuances of dwarven politics right away, my lady. And you're right - I do have him in my power. Not that I'm sure I'll profit at all by it."

"It depends on whether you think he should be king, I suppose."

"Honestly? I'm not sure. Baizyl is a bit soft-headed sometimes. Easily compromised. He may talk a good game about wanting to improve Orzammar, but he doesn't really care about anyone outside the noble caste. And he only plays politics when it's the easiest way for him to get what he wants. If that's the way he wants to live, it's his Stone-given right to do so, but I'm not sure those are the makings of a king."

"What do you mean, easily compromised?"

"Well, here's an example...His new wife, Revelka? She'd been his mistress for years, even though her father married her off to someone else. I helped him out of a tight spot because of it, ages ago. If he could be blackmailed then, I'm sure he can be bought again in the future. Men like Baizyl never have only one secret."

"But would Renvil be any better?"

"That's the question, isn't it? He and I have never really spoken - though I know he's quite traditional, like Baizyl said. But I want to figure him out for myself before I make any decisions. It looks like I've got my work cut out for me."

"How so?"

"When the Assembly reconvenes tomorrow, I'll need to be there. I have to talk to Renvil and his supporters and find out what they really want. Baizyl's too. If I'm lucky, maybe I can least get the Commons reopened and make things a little better for the other castes, no matter who ends up as king. It's been a while since I did any good old-fashioned Orzammar backroom dealing, but I'm sure it will all come back to me soon enough."

"And what will I be doing while you're making these deals?"

"I can't bring you with me to the Assembly, I'm afraid. I need to do this alone."

"Are you sure that's safe?"

"Well, Gorim will be with me. He's a noble now in his own right, so he has the right to be. But I'm afraid these deshyrs won't tolerate outsiders in the chambers. They may talk politely enough to a human's face, but they don't trust you when it comes down to it. I'm sorry, my lady, but you'll have to find ways of keeping yourself entertained while I'm handling the nobles."

"I won't have any problems doing so," said Anora, even as she wondered, _Why does Sereda suddenly care whether I'm bored? Or imply that I'd expect to be with her while she meets with the Assembly? I never expected either of those things to matter to her._ Something was changing between them, though she couldn't yet be sure of what it meant, and the situation in Orzammar was even more complex and more hazardous than she had imagined. But one thing was certain: with Sereda occupied in dealing with the Assembly, Anora could no longer afford to follow through passively with what others had planned for her. This life was nothing like the one she'd expected, but it was well past time she found her own pathway through it.


	8. Chapter 8

Despite the long rest she'd taken before dinner, Anora slept deeply through the stretch of hours the dwarves of Orzammar agreed to call "night." She woke only briefly to hear Sereda leaving, then dozed again until she heard a tentative knock on the door. She sat up in bed and brought up the lights, pleased at having remembered how to operate them. "Come in."

An attractive dwarven woman, red-haired and with a faint grey tattoo on one rosy cheek, entered holding a tray of food. "I'm sorry if I woke you, Lady Anora, but it's getting late and I thought you might enjoy some lunch."

"I would. Thank you." With a smile, Anora took the tray from the servant, who bowed and backed away into the hall. The food was odd and yet familiar - some sort of mushroom stew, and a chunk of dark brown bread - and she was hungry enough to devour it all even though it was strongly and pungently spiced with flavors she'd never tasted before. Constrained by the small bedroom, she considered taking a walk in the Diamond Quarter after she finished the meal. But as she prepared to leave, an intense wave of queasiness sent her running for the adjoining privy, where she remained for the next several hours.

By the time Sereda returned to Gorim's house, carrying a dinner tray from the kitchen along with her, Anora's brief illness had passed. However, she declined the proffered food, opting for nothing but water for the sake of her still-unsettled stomach. Sereda noticed, of course. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"I'm better than I was," said Anora. "I think I'm not used to the food here yet. How were things at the Assembly?"

"Pretty much like I expected. Lots of petty bullshit arguments and not much getting done. But Orzammar wasn't built in a day, and the Assembly rarely accomplishes anything in the average day either. I'll keep at it until I get somewhere."

Sereda's optimism seemed genuine, but it couldn't prevent every complication by itself. She, too, woke in the middle of the night to make her own hasty dash to the privy. "Shouldn't you stay in bed and recover?" asked Anora as Sereda got dressed the following morning.

Sereda shook her head. "Can't do it," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I won't risk the Assembly trying to shove something through while I'm not in the room to respond to it. Don't worry about me. I'll make it through the day."

The dwarven chambermaid came in not long after Sereda departed, offering breakfast and a bath. Anora gladly accepted both. Down the hall was a bathing room with a deep tub carved out of the stone, perfect for soaking. When she returned to the bedroom, warm and clean in a newly laundered robe, her breakfast was waiting for her on a side table. She considered the food for a long time, remembering her illness and Sereda's, and Gorim carefully tasting each dish at Baizyl's table before allowing anyone else to touch them, and the strange bitter aftertaste that had lingered in her mouth after lunch the day before. Then she carried the tray into the privy chamber and dumped its contents down the hole.

Soon after, Anora emerged into the house's main foyer, wearing a fresh dress and carrying her small silk purse. The chambermaid sat at a table in the adjoining dining room, slicing vegetables into a pot. Anora stood awkwardly in the door for a while until the chambermaid noticed she was there. "May I help you, Lady Anora?"

"Oh. Yes. I thought I might go out and see the sights. After all, I've never been to Orzammar before."

The chambermaid shrugged. "Don't let me stop you."

_She isn't my jailer,_ Anora remembered belatedly. _I don't need to ask permission from her or anyone else to go where I want and do as I please. I'm less accustomed to freedom than I like to pretend._ Nervously, she pushed the door open and stepped out into the street. She was no longer a prisoner, no matter how much her marriage to Sereda might sometimes feel like a cage.

But the strange discomfort of those first steps soon faded as the simple joy of independence returned to her. Soon she was walking purposefully through the Diamond Quarter and toward the Commons. She felt strong, unencumbered, and more herself than she had in many years. Some of the dwarves she passed on the street greeted her politely, while others glowered at her or openly gawked. She paid them little mind. Regardless of what anyone else might think of her presence here, she knew precisely what she needed to do.

In the travelogues of Thedas she'd read as a girl, the Orzammar Commons had often been depicted as an astonishing bazaar full of masterworks and impossible machines no one on the surface could imagine. Distant echoes of that former grandeur yet remained, but the Commons had clearly seen better days. Patrons here were few and far between, in contrast to the crowds that constantly choked Denerim's main marketplace, and half the stalls and shops were shuttered and vacant. _This is exactly what Sereda meant about Harrowmont's policies being short-sighted,_ she thought. _In trying to protect dwarven livelihoods from outsiders, he drove all the customers away._

At the end of one mostly empty row she found a bored-looking moneychanger in a small booth, who gaped at her as she approached. "You must be the Paragon's new wife," he said.

_News travels fast in Orzammar. It's a good thing I'm not trying to keep a low profile._ "I am. Sereda has told me so much about the wonders of dwarven crafts. I was hoping to change some money so I can buy some of them for myself."

"At the moment, surfacer coin's not much good down here, I'm afraid. I can trade with you if you want, my lady, but I doubt you'll like the exchange rate."

"Would this be any better for you?" asked Anora, and reached into her purse for one of the few things she'd managed to bring with her from Stonewater Castle. The moneychanger leaned in, gazing avidly at the gold and ruby necklace she held. Although its materials and craftsmanship were nothing extraordinary by dwarven standards, the gems and metal had been carefully worked into the royal arms of the Theirin bloodline. Cailan had given it to her in the early days of their marriage, and she felt an unexpected pang at how covetously the moneychanger looked it over. _Cailan will always be a part of my past,_ she told herself firmly. _What's most important now is how his gifts can help secure my future._

"A unique and meaningful piece," the moneychanger murmured. "Many deshyrs would be proud to add it to their collection. Are you certain you want to part with it?"

"For the right price, yes."

The moneychanger grinned. "In that case, you're right - I _do_ like this much better. What price did you have in mind?"

After some perfunctory haggling, Anora left with her purse weighted down by dwarven coins in small denominations. The next stop on her journey was easy to find. In the absence of trade with the surface, most of the shops dealing in trinkets and luxuries had been forced to close. But no dwarf could live without food and clothing and shelter, and so the vendors dealing in humbler goods would always survive. A very patient shopkeeper helped Anora sort through her wares, selling her nug meat and mushrooms and root vegetables and salt and some sort of flavorful lichen and a loaf of green bread the shopkeeper insisted was freshly baked despite its color. The blacksmith next door provided her with cooking utensils, a skillet, and a pot. When the rumbling in her belly finally became too much to ignore, she flagged down a roving snack vendor and bought a skewer of oil-soaked mushrooms. (She noted with interest that this food posed no difficulties for her digestion, unfamiliar flavors and all.) Then she packed her purchases in a large woven bag and carried it back to Gorim's house, struggling slightly under its weight.

Anora felt a brief surge of panic as she approached the house. How would she explain her huge, rattling market bag if the chambermaid saw it and asked about it? But she needn't have worried; when she opened the front door, the foyer and dining room were vacant. She hurried to her bedroom and unpacked the food and cookware near the fireplace. Her makeshift kitchen proved challenging at first. There was no chimney or wood fire, just a flat slab of lyrium-infused stone putting out heat and light without smoke. Moreover, it had been many years since she had cooked anything for herself, let alone tried to assemble unfamiliar ingredients without a recipe. But through patient trial and error, by the dinner hour she had what she hoped was an edible meal bubbling and sizzling atop the hearthstone.

When Sereda entered the room, carrying a covered dish, she frowned in confusion at the smell of the cooking and the sight of Anora crouched on the floor and stirring the pot. "What in the name of the Stone are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm making us dinner."

"Why? Gorim has a cook to do that."

"He does. And how did both of us feel the last time we ate the food from his kitchen?"

Sereda's eyes went wide. "You think someone's trying to poison us," she said at last.

"Don't say it so loudly. I can't prove anything yet. But yes. I do."

Sereda sighed and set down the dish. "That's a shame. This broiled cave fish smelled amazing. But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised somebody would try."

"We can only hope my cooking will improve with practice."

Anora picked up the metal serving bowls she'd purchased in the Commons and ladled soup into them while Sereda poked at the contents of the frying pan. "What _is_ this? Are you trying to make fried mush?"

"I'm not sure what I'm making, to be honest. Whatever it is, I'm fairly certain it won't poison us."

"I suppose I'll take what I can get," said Sereda, taking her bowl and settling down on the floor next to Anora.

They ate in silence for a time until Anora could no longer resist asking the question that had nagged at her for the past several days. "You still haven't explained why you're so convinced everyone in Orzammar hates you. You're a Paragon. Don't they respect that?"

"Outside the noble caste, they probably do. The stories about how I stopped the Blight are the ones the common folk retell most often. The nobles have a rather different impression of me."

"Which is?"

"Why do you want to know this so badly?"

"Because I can't survive down here without you," said Anora, hating the truth of her own words. "Do you think I'm making this meal for you because it's my wifely duty? If someone really _does_ want to assassinate you, they're clearly coming for me, too. How long do you think I'd last here on my own?"

"Not very long, to be honest."

"Exactly. You said it yourself: 'somebody's trying to poison _us_.' So I need to keep you alive - and if I'm going to do that, I need to know what we're up against."

"You have a point. I might as well tell you." Sereda sighed. "The nobles here don't trust me because they think I'm a kinslayer."

"Well? Are you?"

"No." Sereda sounded only a little affronted. "Bhelen was, though. He killed Trian - our older brother - and pinned the blame on me. The Assembly never got to hear my side of the story. I was exiled to the Deep Roads, and the Wardens picked me up."

She spoke the words matter-of-factly, but Anora could hear echoes of a deep and incurable pain behind them. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Obviously not. Some of the nobles don't know the real story either, and a lot of the ones who do prefer Bhelen's lies instead. Renvil is one of them. A lot of things started to make sense when I found that little tidbit out. He's such an asshole to me because he knows that if I stood against Bhelen even though he was my blood, I'm sure as hell not going to support House Harrowmont in all things just because I supported them once before. Men like Renvil want unthinking loyalists, not people who think for themselves. In fact, most of Orzammar does."

"You're being too hard on yourself, Warden-Commander. From what you've told me, you always did what you thought was right for your people."

"I'm not being hard on myself. I'm just being honest. I mean, I _am_ a kinslayer, if you want to get technical about it. After I put Harrowmont on the throne, there was no way he was going to let Bhelen challenge him again. I knew he'd kill my brother, and I didn't do anything to prevent it."

"That isn't the same thing. And from what you told me before, Bhelen wouldn't have been a good king anyway."

"Believe me, I don't regret how it turned out. I just regret…" Sereda gestured broadly at the room. "All of this. Orzammar. Every absurd tradition we've decided we need to keep following long after they've served their purpose. And the fact that I'm not strong enough to bend those traditions as far as I would like."

"Don't sell yourself short, Warden-Commander. You seem to be breaking with tradition in plenty of ways already. You brought me here, didn't you?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, my lady. You're a good deal more hopeful about this mess than I. We'll soon see if your optimism is warranted, I suppose."

With dinner completed, Anora once again threw away the food they'd been given and left the dirty dishes in the hall to conceal the real source of their meal. Then she set about tidying up, hiding the leftover ingredients and the cooking utensils in various places around the room. They hadn't yet had a chance to unpack their meager belongings, but the chest at the foot of their bed looked big enough to fit the cookpot. But when Anora opened it, she was perplexed to discover it only contained a single object. A granite rock, palm-sized, ordinary - yet Anora would know it anywhere. It was the same small stone on which she and Sereda had made their practical, dispassionate wedding vows to each other.

Sereda was engrossed in taking off her boots. She didn't know what Anora had found. Anora's cheeks burned as she all but lobbed the pot into the chest and slammed the lid shut, trying to pretend she had seen nothing. _What does it mean that she kept the rock?_ she thought, her heart hammering. _And why should it matter to me if it means anything at all?_


	9. Chapter 9

Anora's days soon relaxed into an oddly comfortable rhythm. Each morning Sereda was the first to rise and head for the Assembly hall accompanied by Gorim, so as to be there before the session began to have private conversations with the various deshyrs she was trying to persuade to her side. Anora woke later and discreetly discarded the breakfast the chambermaid brought her. Instead, she sipped water and ate bread rolls from the market, which she hoarded in the drawer of her bedside table. Her suspicions about the food had been borne out when neither she nor Sereda became sick again after they stopped eating it. Now they found excuses to dine in other dwarves' homes whenever they could, and subsisted happily on Anora's surreptitious cooking when they could not.

She was in the habit now of leaving the house every day, enjoying the freedom of strolling through the Diamond Quarter and the Commons at her leisure. At dinner parties and receptions she had begun to befriend the husbands and wives of some of the more open-minded deshyrs, and sometimes she joined them for lunch or games or conversation or other pastimes. Her duty in Orzammar was not so different than her duty in Ferelden had been during her marriage to Cailan: to be agreeable and polite, to reflect well on her spouse, and to learn from these meetings everything she could about the inner workings of the court and retain it for later use, even as she knew her new friends were undoubtedly doing the same to her. The difference was that she had genuinely liked Cailan from the start, childlike enthusiasm and all, and had never doubted she could someday grow to love him. She did not yet know what she thought of Sereda - or what Sereda thought of her.

Most days, she shopped in the Commons to supplement her cache of food with fresh ingredients and new spices. With prices being what they were, the proceeds from the sale of her necklace would last her a long time, so she made sure to spread her money around whenever she visited. Cultivating a reputation for generosity among the common folk was always useful. She took the time to get to know the merchants and vendors as well, taking their suggestions for recipes and culinary techniques to try, listening to the stories of their lives. Some of the dwarves never seemed to warm up to her; Anora could not be sure whether they distrusted her human heritage, or had heard the stories of Sereda as kinslayer, or disliked her for other reasons entirely. She did not allow these occasional rebuffs to faze her. The important thing was making connections with the dwarves who were already kindly disposed toward her, not chasing the respect of the ones who would never become friends or allies.

Strangest of all, Anora found she had come to look forward to the evenings she and Sereda spent alone in their room. Together they had fallen into a bizarre and unanticipated domesticity, and Anora honestly could not say she minded it. True to her word, her cooking had improved, thanks to her increasing familiarity with the available ingredients and the advice from the shopkeepers in the Commons. But better yet, Sereda had begun to open up to her. It was as if after seeing that no harm had come from telling Anora the history of her exile, Sereda felt newly emboldened to trust her with any number of other delicate and sensitive matters. She told Anora about the inner workings of the Assembly, the petty rivalries and ancient grudges that persisted among the noble houses, and all the ways she was trying to take advantage of them to get more deshyrs on her side. She hadn't decided what she wanted to accomplish with these alliances beyond getting the Commons reopened, but she reasoned that knowing who supported you was always valuable. Anora helped as she was able, sharing gossip she'd heard over her luncheons and rumors she'd absorbed in the marketplace. For the first time since the assassin had come to Stonewater Castle, she began to look forward eagerly to what each day might hold - and especially to the parts of it she might get to share with Sereda.

And then there was the matter of the mysterious poisoner in their midst. Throwing every meal down the privy was a temporary solution at best. Eventually, the poisoner would undoubtedly get frustrated with the failure of their tactics and try something more direct and even more fatal. Anora would have to identify her enemy before that could happen. But who was it? The cook was an obvious suspect, perhaps too obvious. Besides, Gorim had never been sickened by anything he'd eaten in his own home, which suggested the poison was being added after the food had already been cooked. Thus, Anora was left with one more obvious culprit to consider.

Gorim's chambermaid never did anything to make herself appear suspicious. She was plainly experienced and good at her job, moving confidently and unobtrusively through the house, making everything run smoothly as she worked behind the scenes. Any household would be lucky to employ her. All of this made her powerful - and dangerous. Anora watched her whenever she could, but she was much too practiced to give anything away in front of the lady of the house. Or maybe she was completely innocent. Anora could not trust her until she knew for sure.

So one morning, immediately after Sereda had left for the day's Assembly session, Anora did not remain in bed as she normally would. Instead, without even changing out of her nightdress, she crept out into the dining room. Down the hall to the kitchen she could smell breakfast simmering on the hearth and hear the cook and the chambermaid conversing as they worked. _Right on time, then,_ she thought.

Thick tapestries hung on the dining room walls, depicting what Sereda said were famous scenes from House Aeducan's storied history. Two of them met in a corner to create a convenient hiding spot. Anora pushed between them and concealed herself behind the heavy fabric, leaving a gap just small enough for her to breathe and see through. She held very still and waited.

Before long the chambermaid came out of the kitchen, carrying Anora's breakfast on a tray as usual. But instead of proceeding directly to the bedroom, she set the tray down on the dining room table. She looked over her shoulder at the kitchen and, satisfied that the cook would remain inside, pulled a small vial on a chain out of her bodice. Then she uncorked it and splashed a few drops of its murky contents into Anora's porridge bowl.

The chambermaid picked the tray up again and carried it toward Anora's bedroom. Soundlessly, Anora slipped out from between the tapestries and followed her. Just as she lifted her fist to rap on the bedroom door, Anora tapped her on the shoulder. "I saw what you put in my food," she whispered. "We need to talk."

The chambermaid whirled around. Her face cycled through a range of emotions: surprise, irritation, confusion, shock, shame, and at last fear. Anora did not wait for her to speak. She opened the door, took the tray from the chambermaid's trembling hands, and commanded, "Go inside." The chambermaid obeyed.

Once inside the room, the chambermaid dropped to her hands and knees. "Please don't hurt me, lady," she squeaked, petrified and clearly not believing Anora would hear her plea.

"I don't want to do that," said Anora. "Stand up. Look at me." The chambermaid complied. "Tell me - what is your name?"

"Rica, my lady. Rica Brosca."

"I know you've been putting something in my food since I came here, Rica. I'm not angry with you. I'm sure you're only following someone's orders. So tell me who put you up to this and I promise I'll let you go free."

Rica looked embarrassed. "No one, my lady," she mumbled.

Anora hadn't been expecting that. "Don't lie to me," she cautioned.

"I'm not! It was my own idea. I swear by the Stone it was."

_By now I know how seriously dwarves take a vow like that,_ thought Anora. "Very well. I believe you. But why would you do such a thing? What did Sereda ever do to you?"

"Everything." Rica drew herself up to her full height, which did not quite bring her level with Anora's shoulder. "I swore to myself that no Aeducan would ever sit on the throne of Orzammar while I lived."

Anora's head was veritably spinning with too much new information. "I still don't understand."

"I don't expect you to." Rica bowed her head again. "Please, my lady, it's none of your concern. You've caught me and you can treat me as you please. Send me away, call the watch, do whatever you have to do. But if you let me go like you said, I won't trouble you again."

"Not so fast." Anora pulled up two chairs in front of the hearth, sat down in one of them, and gestured at the other. "I _do_ intend to let you go, Rica - but not until you've told me what Sereda and House Aeducan did to make you hate them so much."

Rica sat, twisting the hem of her apron in her hands, watching the glowing hearthstone instead of meeting Anora's eyes. "Do you know who Bhelen Aeducan was?" she asked.

"Yes. Sereda's brother. He was once in the running to be king, but Sereda chose Lord Harrowmont over him."

"And he was my lover," Rica said softly.

The missing pieces of Anora's understanding abruptly clicked into place. Rica kept talking. "At first, I was just a casual fling to him. And I only chased him to begin with because I wanted to make my family's life better. If I could just bear him a son...For a casteless girl like me, there was no other way. But in time, we came to love each other deeply. After Bhelen's father died, he said that when he became king he would marry me and raise all the Broscas to the noble caste. We could move into the palace and never want for anything again. With things in Dust Town getting harder every day, and my brother dying...Falling in love with Bhelen was more than I had ever dared to hope for. But then _she_ came along and ruined everything for us. She chose Harrowmont instead, and he killed Bhelen, and all my dreams along with him."

"I know Sereda didn't intend to harm you," said Anora, but she knew it was an empty sentiment. Every good ruler knew that any one of their decisions, no matter how noble or well-meaning, stood to bring tragedy down upon a handful of their subjects even when it improved conditions for thousands more. But it was rare to encounter someone as badly harmed as Rica. She did not know what else to say.

Rica didn't seem to have heard Anora. "Some of Bhelen's friends pulled some strings and got me a job in the palace. Harrowmont knew who I was, but he must not have thought I was a threat. If he'd known about Endrin he would have thought differently. Thank the Stone he didn't."

"Endrin? You mean, Bhelen's father?"

"No. Bhelen's son."

A chill ran down Anora's spine. "So you _did_ have Bhelen's child," she said, astonished. "Where is that child now?"

"On the surface. Safe." Rica's flat tone made it clear that she would say nothing more about his whereabouts. "When Lord Harrowmont took the throne, I knew I had to get my son out of Orzammar. Sending him away was the hardest thing I ever had to do. He was still just a baby." Her voice quivered briefly, and she took a deep breath. "But he's alive, and that's all that matters. Maybe someday we'll find a way to be together again, when the right people come into power."

"So if King Harrowmont were to get sick and die, making room for his former rival's son to ascend the throne…"

A small, coy smile danced across Rica's lips. She quickly suppressed it. "You think very highly of my mind to imply it was all my idea, Lady Anora. There are many dwarves in Orzammar who thought Harrowmont's reign had outlived its usefulness - and other dwarves in the right place at the right time who might have been willing to help them, for the right price. Now that Harrowmont is dead, they all have plans for how to come out ahead. But if Sereda Aeducan becomes queen, none of them will get what they want."

"But Rica, Sereda doesn't _want_ to be queen."

Rica looked up from the fireplace. "Really?"

"She said so as soon as she found out Harrowmont had died. She only came back to help ensure the right dwarf gets crowned." _Like she did before,_ Anora almost said, but realized just in time that Rica would probably see the question of "the right dwarf" much differently than Sereda had. "If she wanted to rule, don't you think she would have tried to do it already?"

Rica nodded. "What the Paragon says, I believe."

_Really? That's all she needs to hear? Well, at least the dwarven tendency toward taking people at their word seems to be helping me_. "Good. Then do you promise you'll stop poisoning our food?"

"I promise - not that it means much now, does it? Just turn me over to the watch now and get it over with." Rica's words were bold, but her voice shook with fear.

"Come now, Rica. I told you I wouldn't turn you over if you told me the truth, and I don't intend to break that promise." Anora's voice was altruistic and understanding, but her true motives were something else entirely. She had been working through all the possibilities the situation presented ever since she'd first hidden behind the tapestry, and now, one option stood out to her. "You said you worked in the palace after Bhelen died? For how long?"

"Almost ten years, my lady. The whole of King Harrowmont's reign. When he died, the chamberlain reassigned me to Lord Gorim's household."

"And in the palace, I'm sure you learned a lot about the deshyrs in the Assembly, didn't you? The servants always know more than they let on."

"Yes, my lady. What I learned there was useful to my...other employers, as well."

"Say no more," Anora murmured. She'd heard of the Carta, the ancient crime syndicate that persisted in Orzammar and some surface cities despite many crackdowns and violent purges. They were well-known for meddling in all kinds of politics, and it was unlikely anyone else outside the noble caste would have given the order for Rica to poison King Harrowmont. "Paragon Sereda badly wants to reopen the Commons to the casteless, and improve trade relations between Orzammar and the surface. Would that benefit your other employers as well?"

"Of course. It would help everyone in Orzammar."

"Indeed. So tell me what you know about the deshyrs, Rica. Every alliance, every rivalry, every business deal, every dirty secret that might convince them to take Sereda's side. If you help us, I'll make sure you're taken care of. I can't promise it, but we might even find a way to reunite you with your son. But if you betray us, I won't hesitate to turn you over to the watch and tell them everything you told me. I doubt they'll be so forgiving."

Rica could not conceal the delight and relief on her face. "Then I'll help you, Lady Anora. Don't worry. You can count on me."

"Then prove it." Anora crossed to the desk on the far wall and took out parchment, a pen, and a bottle of ink. "I'm ready whenever you want to begin."

That evening, Sereda returned with the usual meal from Gorim's kitchen to find Anora not cooking, but leafing through a thick sheaf of papers while lounging on the bed. "Did you make other plans for dinner?" she asked, frowning in confusion.

"You're holding them. The food is safe to eat now."

"Are you sure?"

By way of response, Anora lifted the lid on the tray and took a large, confident bite of steamed cave crab legs. She had spent all day recording Rica's information, and she was famished. "Many things have changed today," she said, and snatched another crab leg.

"I see. Does this have something to do with all that parchment you're holding?"

"See for yourself." Anora slid the papers across the bed.

Sereda didn't even make it through the first page before she set the papers down and looked over at Anora in amazement. "This is priceless," she said. "Are you sure it's accurate?"

"Yes."

"How in the world did you learn it?"

"From a source I'm not ready to reveal quite yet. But it's someone who has a strong interest in making sure the Commons are reopened. Will it help you?"

"Absolutely." Shaking her head, Sereda reached for the food. "My lady, it seems you're full of surprises."

Anora thought of the bottle around Rica's neck, and the plain and unassuming rock still buried beneath Sereda's belongings. "I'm not the only one, Warden-Commander."


	10. Chapter 10

Sereda burst into the bedroom with a shout of joy, wearing a nearly manic grin on her face. It was late, well past the normal time of her daily return from the Assembly chambers, and Anora had long since eaten dinner without her. She was already in bed and in her nightgown, struggling through a dense dwarven novel in translation that Gorim had assured her was a timeless classic. She set the book aside and sat up in bed, smoothing the covers over her legs. "Good news?" she asked.

"The best news," said Sereda. She was pacing around the room, too full of exuberant, nervous energy to settle down. "The Assembly voted today in favor of lifting all restrictions on the use of the the Commons."

Anora beamed. "That's wonderful! Was the vote very close?"

"Sixty-one to nineteen."

"A mandate, then."

"Effectively."

"Did the documents I gave you help?"

"All the intelligence you brought me was good. I used it to sway at least a dozen deshyrs to my side. Plenty of the others saw the writing on the wall and switched their positions before I got a chance to talk to them. I wish you'd tell me who your source is, or how you met them. I owe them a debt."

"I have an idea for how you might repay it."

"Well, that's ominous."

Anora laughed. "It really isn't. In fact, it might be good for the two of you to meet soon. She'll be happy to learn how much she helped, and then you can speak in person about what comes next."

"'She,' huh? That's the most you've let slip yet. I suppose I should take what I can get." Sereda still hadn't stopped pacing, and her smile became sheepish as she noticed her own restlessness. "Sorry. You were about to go to sleep. I have a hard time calming down after I win."

"I understand. You should celebrate. Don't let me hold you back. I've heard there are some nice taverns in the Diamond Quarter."

"That's...not usually how I would celebrate success, to be honest."

"Then how _would_ you celebrate?"

"Normally? I'd find a pretty girl, put my face between her legs, and stay there until my tongue got sore."

Anora felt her face grow hot. The image of Sereda with her head pressed between someone's thighs - between _Anora's_ thighs - sent a rush of humming warmth to her center. _Why would I want that from her? I don't even_ like _her!_ Sereda's pacing came to a gradual halt. "I'm sorry, my lady," she said, turning her gaze to the floor. "I've said too much. I didn't mean to be so forward."

"Don't apologize," said Anora faintly. "If that's what you need, go out and find it."

Sereda looked up and said flatly, "We're married. We made vows to each other."

"And you'd be neither the first nor the last to take your pleasure outside those vows. Maker knows it didn't bother Cailan."

"It might not have bothered Cailan, or any number of kings and queens in Orzammar. But it bothers me."

Now it was Anora's turn to look away. "But we didn't marry for love - or even for sex. What if I never want to…?"

"'I promise to honor and protect you, forsaking all others, for as long as we both shall live.' I already told you. My words _are_ my deeds, my lady. If you never share my bed for anything other than a good night's sleep, then I'll take comfort from myself when I must. I know you made great sacrifices when you married me. It's only fair that I should make some, too."

Anora's heart pounded in her ears. "I wouldn't mind it," she heard herself say, "if you shared my bed for other reasons than sleep tonight."

Sereda crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, next to Anora. "Are you only offering yourself because you feel sorry for me? I won't take an unwilling partner either."

"No. That isn't it. I want to…" Anora swallowed hard. "I've only just realized I want to see what it would be like - to be with you like that. I can't promise I'll ever want it from you again, after tonight. But I think I would regret it if I didn't try it once."

Sereda considered Anora's words for a long time. As she thought, Anora's stomach twisted itself in knots. Her face turned redder, and the tingling in her loins grew even stronger. "All right," Sereda said at last. "We might as well try." They stared at each other, trapped in another awkward pause that felt as if it would never end. Anora wondered whether she should say more, or perhaps lean forward and kiss Sereda. But before she could make up her mind, Sereda added, "Lie down."

Anora did as she was told. Sereda didn't even bother to take her own clothes off; she simply peeled away the bedclothes and began to pull Anora's nightgown up, inch by torturous inch. With shame, Anora realized she was already wet before even having been touched. And when Sereda _did_ touch her, slowly dragging one finger along her vulva, she could not stifle a gasp of delight. It had been years since any hand but her own had touched her there, and it took hardly any time at all to reach her abrupt and unexpected peak. Anora let out a muffled cry as pleasure coursed through her.

But Sereda was nowhere near finished. She lay down at the end of the mattress and lowered her head. Anora's legs opened wide to accommodate her. She moaned again when she felt Sereda's mouth on her, her lips working tirelessly, her tongue probing deeply. Two fingers followed soon after, bringing Anora to new heights of bliss. Lost in sensation, it was easy for Anora to forget who was fucking her, to focus on nothing other than the fire coursing through every nerve in her body as she came again and again.

When the pleasure turned to overstimulation, Anora whimpered, "Stop." Sereda complied at once. But as Anora pulled away from her and struggled to regain her composure, she realized that Sereda was rutting against the mattress, her eyes squeezed shut as she chased a climax of her own. "Oh! You don't need to do that. Let me help you."

Sereda's hips ceased their aimless rhythm. Panting, she crawled toward Anora and knelt beside her. Before she could lose her courage, Anora unfastened Sereda's belt buckle and plunged one hand inside her trousers. Sereda, too, was soaking wet, and she drew her breath sharply in as she jerked against Anora's touch. Emboldened, Anora worked her fingers against Sereda as Sereda grinded herself against the heel of Anora's hand. As the thrusts grew more forceful, Sereda steadied herself on Anora's shoulders. And then, suddenly, Sereda was coming too, shattering the night with a cry of her own as her erratic movements slowed and then stopped.

Anora took her hand out of Sereda's pants and pulled her nightgown back down. She found she still could not meet Sereda's gaze. They were married. They had done nothing wrong by the standards of anyone in Ferelden or Orzammar. Sex was part of what marriage was for. So why did Anora feel as though she had just transgressed a boundary from which she could never return? "Thank you," she said, not knowing what else to say. "That was nice."

"No. Thank _you_."

The silence between them stretched on into an awkward eternity. Anora lowered the lights, then rolled over and burrowed beneath the covers again to prevent having to look at Sereda again. "I'm turning in for the night."

In the dark, the bed creaked as Sereda got up from it. "I'll join you eventually."

"Sounds good." The lethargy that often followed orgasm had overtaken Anora completely. She wanted to think through what had just happened, but she wanted even more to sleep and _not_ think about it. Unconsciousness claimed her before she could change her mind.


	11. Chapter 11

Anora woke in the middle of the night and realized she was still alone in bed. Only the warm orange blaze of the hearthstone lit the room, revealing Sereda's silhouette in a chair beside the fireplace. Anora lifted her head and said groggily, "I thought you were going to sleep."

"There's something I didn't tell you about what happened in the Assembly today," said Sereda.

At once, Anora was completely awake. She climbed out of bed and padded across the cold stone floor to sit next to Sereda. "What happened?" she asked, with a pit in her stomach.

"Well, I told you we voted on the proposal to reopen the Commons, but I didn't tell you what happened next."

_Stop stalling,_ Anora thought irritably, but she said nothing and waited for Sereda to continue.

"I didn't plan it this way. It was all Baizyl. Reopening the Commons was his proposal, so when it passed with such a large margin, he must have thought it meant a mandate for his kingship as well. He called on the deshyrs to stop debating and vote for the next king. So we did."

"And? Did he win?"

"No. None of the candidates earned a majority of the vote, so the motion to crown a ruler failed. Baizyl got the most votes, though: twenty-nine. Renvil only got twenty-two."

"What about the rest of the votes?"

"Twenty-seven deshyrs voted for me."

_"What?"_

"I said twenty-seven deshyrs - "

"I heard you, it's only that... _how?_ You said the nobles in Orzammar hated you."

Sereda shrugged. "Apparently they don't all hate me as much as I thought. Or at least they hate me less than they hate Renvil and Baizyl. Anyway, you can see why this is terrible. I don't know what I'm going to do to make them switch their allegiances."

"Why should you? It's like I said before: _You_ could be queen, Warden-Commander. You only got two fewer votes than Baizyl. It's clear the deshyrs are dissatisfied with the other options. You said yourself that Baizyl was soft-headed and easy to blackmail, and that Renvil would repeat his uncle's mistakes. Why not take the opportunity to change things while you have it?"

"I already told you I don't _want_ to be queen! Forget it, all right?"

"If you say so." They sank back into silence together, watching the glowing hearthstone, unsure of what to say next. Anora found herself pondering the numbers Sereda had shared, adding them up in her mind. "Warden-Commander?"

"Yes?"

"I just realized - the votes add up to seventy-eight. Assuming that Baizyl and Renvil both abstained again, how did you vote? For Baizyl?"

Sereda spoke so softly that Anora could barely hear her. "I voted for myself."

"Excuse me?!"

"I voted for myself, all right? What more do you want me to say?"

"I thought the deshyrs under consideration for election to the monarchy had to abstain."

"It's a tradition to abstain from voting for yourself, not a law. I guess I've never been much for tradition." Sereda grimaced.

"But _why?_ "

"Some of the other deshyrs told me they were going to abstain from the next vote for king because the stuff I told them was making them reconsider their stance, so I knew we weren't going to have a majority no matter what. Baizyl will always be selfish and untrustworthy, and the more I learn about Renvil the less I like him. So I guess I wanted to see what would happen if I chose differently."

"But if there were seventy-eight votes cast, they _didn't_ abstain! They voted for someone else."

"Sure. They voted for me."

"And what if they hadn't? You were prepared to give the throne away without caring who it went to because you 'wanted to see what would happen?'"

"I know it was foolish. You don't have to rub it in. It's not like I'm going to do it again."

"Maybe you should." Anora couldn't keep the smug smile from her face, or the note of triumph from creeping into her tone. "You _do_ want to be queen. You keep trying to tell me you don't, but you do. I'll bet you've spent the whole past decade thinking about how you could have done better than Pyral Harrowmont if you'd only had the chance. Now you do."

Sereda's voice turned stony and grim. "Are you saying that because you really think I'd be a good queen, or because _you_ want to be one again?" Anora made no reply, but felt her cheeks heat up. "Yeah, I'm on to you now, aren't I? This is why I picked Alistair and not you. At least he could be humble. But _you_...I know what you want. If you can't be a queen in Ferelden, you might as well make the most of this marriage and try to be a queen in Orzammar. Never mind what I want. Never mind that you don't know anything about our history, or our people, or anything at all beyond your total bloody certainty that Anora _motherfucking_ Mac Tir is destined by the Maker to rule over someone somewhere?"

"You know what? Maybe I _do_ want to be queen in Orzammar. I'm sure I'd be a good one. It wouldn't be so different from what you did when you waltzed into Ferelden and decided all by yourself that your best friend was the man for the job, would it? I'm sure you knew a lot about _my_ history and _my_ people then."

Sereda stood up abruptly, shoving her chair backwards with an ugly scrape of stone on stone. Anora flinched, wondering absurdly if Sereda was about to attack her - but instead Sereda stalked past her toward the door. "Where are you going?" Anora called after her.

"Gorim's room. Leave me alone. I don't really feel like looking at you right now. My lady." Then the door slammed shut and Anora was alone once more.

The bed, which had previously seemed so warm and inviting, was now the farthest thing from Anora's thoughts. Her mind spun rapidly through a vast array of theories. She wanted to dive into all the implications of the failed vote, to take advantage of the divisions in the Assembly to the benefit of the chosen candidate - but she found she couldn't make herself concentrate on politics. Instead, all she could think about was Sereda. _She's angry with me, and I don't know if she can forgive me. Have I gone too far? Did I really mean what I said? I never wanted to hurt her - just shock her enough to make her realize she's more than qualified to rule, if she wants to._ That simple realization, that she truly believed Sereda knew what she was doing, sank in her gut like a pebble in a well. _I believe in her. I care about her. I have reason to believe she just might care about me, too - unless it's wishful thinking. Now what am I supposed to do?_

But Sereda's words hadn't hurt so badly only because Anora wanted Sereda to think well of her. More than anything, she was afraid they were true. She _did_ want to be queen of something, but not for the sake of her pride, or to satisfy her ambition at the expense of others, or because she thought a crown was owed to her. When she saw other nobles try and fail to rule, she felt like a swordmaster watching two novice fighters sparring with live steel. It was an effort not to scream advice from the sidelines, to correct their form, to interrupt the melee and instruct them at length in how to improve and to win. And thanks to the dangerous weapons they held, without her intervention it was only a matter of time before one of both of the fighters was maimed or killed. Fate had dealt her a role in which she had all the skills necessary to rule without the standing to actually do it. Faced with such a predicament, was it any wonder she should have wanted to take advantage of the opportunity, even if it meant having to drag Sereda along with her?

Strategizing was pointless. Sereda occupied her thoughts too fully. Anora slunk back to the bed and lay back down. She should have enjoyed stretching out into the extra space on the too-small mattress, but all she could think about was how strange the bed felt without Sereda resting next to her. Instead, she stared up at the ceiling, replaying the conversation in her head, wondering what had changed and how she'd gotten herself into this mess. It took a long time before she fell asleep again.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Sereda was long gone before Anora woke up. It was probably for the best; Anora still didn't know what to say to her. But even in her absence, Gorim's house felt too small and confining. She couldn't bear to stay inside it, alone with her troubled thoughts. _A walk in the Commons will do me good,_ she decided. Now that Rica was on her side she no longer needed to shop for food every day, but wandering through the marketplace would be a pleasant diversion to pass the time until she could talk to Sereda again. With honesty and a little luck, perhaps they could end the conversation on better terms this time.

Much to Anora's surprise, the Commons were busier than she had ever seen them. The effects of the Assembly's decision had made themselves evident after only one day. A new throng of casteless and surface dwarves choked the once-empty aisles, bartering and haggling, buying and selling freely. Other dwarves were throwing open the shutters of long-vacant market stalls, dusting off neglected tables and filling bins with new merchandise from beyond Orzammar's gates. Optimism and excitement suffused the air. _Sereda and I made this happen,_ Anora thought, proud of their accomplishments in spite of everything.

She walked to her favorite bakery and bought some pastries for lunch. The same sour tang, greenish color, and unexpected fillings that had once been so strange to her were now familiar and comforting. The baker was all smiles as she served a steady stream of customers. "Can you believe they've finally let the surfacers come back?" she shouted gleefully when she caught Anora's eye.

"It's all because of Paragon Aeducan," she said, returning the dwarf's smile.

"I'll make sure to thank her if I see here! But first, I'm going to buy wheat flour and real fruit and make human-style turnovers again!"

"I'll be first in line to order them when they're ready."

With both her curiosity and her hunger satisfied, Anora headed back toward the Diamond Quarter. The streets of the marketplace had only grown more crowded as the day wore on, and it was difficult to move without bumping into dwarves left and right. Anora stepped cautiously, wary of her surroundings. Her purse was much lighter than it once had been, and her remaining jewels were safely stored back at Gorim's house, but with the way she towered over every dwarf in Orzammar she knew she still made an obvious and tempting target for a pickpocket. Nearby she spotted a narrow alley running behind a row of disused stalls, a convenient shortcut out of the Commons that she'd followed a few times before. Swiftly she ducked into it, picking up her pace as she evaded the press of eager merchants and customers.

Halfway down the alley, her attackers saw their chance and took it. Strong arms grabbed her from behind and wrestled her into submission. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing more than a faint cut-off squeak came out before another hand clamped firmly across her mouth. She felt the sharp prick of steel at her back. "Make another sound and I'll cut you," a gruff voice rumbled in her ear.

Anora was no fighter. Resistance was useless. She went limp in her captor's grip and let them half-push, half-drag her through the streets. As they walked, she tried to crane her neck to get a better look at the dwarves who had seized her. One of them responded by shoving a sack over her head. The world went dark around her. She stumbled along, mute with fright, her knees weak, her heart hammering. _Who is behind this? And what's going to happen to me?_

They were close enough to the Commons that Anora had hoped someone might see her predicament and raise the alarm, but as the noise of the marketplace receded she realized her captors had carefully chosen an isolated location in which to strike. Her mental map of Orzammar was still too vague for her to understand where they were taking her, other than "away." They went through a door at one point, into a quiet enclosed space where her captors' heavy footsteps rang out against stone floors and her own ragged breathing resounded deafeningly in her ears. Then someone struck the back of her knee with theirs, and she collapsed forward into a soft pile of what smelled like moldy bags of grain.

"Tie her up," an unfamiliar woman said. Rough rope encircled Anora's wrists and ankles, binding them together. When she tested her range of motion she found that an additional length of rope looped between the two sets of bonds, hobbling her completely. "Let's move. We don't have all day." Whatever she was lying on lurched forward, then began to roll smoothly. Wheels clattered against uneven flagstones. _I'm in a cart,_ she realized. _Wherever they're taking me, it's nowhere close to here. I'm in even more danger than I thought._

The ride was just as long as she had feared. Her captors were careful not to speak to each other as the cart bumped along, never giving away their identities. Anora wasn't even sure how many of them there were. She fought to suppress the overwhelming terror that occupied every bit of her body and mind, summoning all her focus and trying to take in every detail of her surroundings. Judging by the damp, stale air, the way her body tilted in the bed of the cart, and the resonant echoes all around her, they were in some sort of tunnel that sloped gently downward. She could not hear or smell any signs of human or dwarven habitation - just a pervasive odor of rot and the occasional distant growl or horrifying skittering of claws against rock. _We're in the Deep Roads, or something close enough to them._ Her stomach sank with the knowledge of the unimaginable danger in which she'd just been placed.

Anora's troubled mind reeled. She couldn't be sure why she'd been kidnapped, but it was safe to guess it had something to do with Sereda and the vote in the Assembly the day before. The strong support she'd unexpectedly commanded from the deshyrs was reason enough for anyone to move against her. This was an ancient and obvious to someone demonstrating power you didn't want them to exercise: kidnap someone close to the target and threaten them until you got what you wanted. And Anora had walked right into it. _You were a fool,_ she told herself bitterly. _Your movements were too predictable, and you were too often alone. You couldn't have made it any easier for them if you'd tried. Too long away from court will do that to a person._ She wondered who might had ordered the attack. Was it Renvil, or Baizyl, or someone else she hadn't met and didn't suspect? She had no way of knowing - but Sereda might.

_Sereda._ A thick, sick lump stuck in Anora's throat at the realization of what her carelessness would mean for her wife. Sereda would notice Anora's absence from Gorim's house immediately, and just as quickly set out to find her. The oath she'd sworn to Alistair guaranteed as much. _She'll blunder right into whatever trap they're undoubtedly setting for her._ There was no way for Anora to warn her away from what she was about to encounter. All she could do was lie in the cart, in the darkness of the hood, and quake in dread of everything that might happen next.

She didn't know how long she'd been riding when the cart jolted to a stop. Hands gripped her by the arms and hauled her to her feet, dragging her roughly away and then shoving her to the ground again. Anora cried out as her knees scraped against the hard, rough floor. "Careful," someone said, "he won't like it if she's damaged."

" _Who_ won't like it?" asked Anora, but of course no one answered.

The woman who'd spoken earlier shouted, "We've got the Paragon's wife! Come out and get her!" Her voice reverberated on and on around them, telling Anora that they'd entered an impossibly vast cavern. She couldn't imagine how far beneath the surface they were now, or what horrors might lurk in all the places she couldn't see.

A familiar voice responded. "Well done, Kaura. I understand now why you came so highly recommended."

"Baizyl," Anora said with disgust. _It makes sense that it would be him. He has the most to lose from Sereda making a bid for the throne._

"Quiet, you," grumbled someone else. Her world exploded into pain and white light as a fist cuffed her across the jaw. She slumped over, tasting blood, grateful that the hood hid the tears flooding her eyes.

"I said don't damage her," commanded Kaura.

"Yes," said Baizyl. "As long as Paragon Aeducan cooperates, no one will have to get hurt."

The pain of the punch had sent Anora beyond fear, beyond uncertainty, into a terrible sort of clarity. "She's not going to cooperate, Baizyl," she said. "She's coming to get me and she's going to kill you where you stand."

"We'll see about that," said Baizyl. Anora felt his mouth next to her ear and smelled the stink of wine on his breath. _Too much of a coward to do this sober,_ she thought. He pulled her to her feet again and marched her away from Kaura and the other dwarves, back the way they'd come in.

Kaura cleared her throat. "Whatever happens next between you and the Paragon, my people and I aren't going to stick around for it. The contract said we'd bring her to you in the Deep Roads, nothing more. So give us the payment we agreed on, and we'll be on our way."

"Ah, yes," said Baizyl. "About that." It might have been Anora's imagination, but she thought she heard a faint click from somewhere nearby, followed by the sound of turning gears. "As the future king of Orzammar, I can't ever let it be known that I hired Carta thugs to help eliminate my political rivals. Call me paranoid, but I'm not sure I can trust you and your men to keep this secret for me." A loud grinding noise of stone on stone filled the cavern, and Anora knew she was definitely _not_ imagining things. "I'm afraid your payment will not be forthcoming. I'm sure you can understand. Good-bye, Kaura."

"Wait!" screamed Kaura, but it was already too late. Anora felt a rush of wind against her skin and a change of pressure in her ears as some sort of enormous door slid closed, cutting off Anora and Baizyl from Kaura and her gang. None of the Carta dwarves escaped through it before it slammed shut, shaking the ground with a low thud. From the other side of it she heard scratching, banging, muffled pleas for mercy. She already knew it was all futile.

But Baizyl and Anora were not alone. From somewhere nearby, Renvil Harrowmont spoke. "Just as planned, cousin. And now we wait. My servants left the letter we composed at Gorim's house. It shouldn't be long before Sereda arrives."

The moans and groans of monsters and the screams of their victims resounded through the Deep Roads as, on the other side of the door, the darkspawn came.


	13. Chapter 13

"Take her hood off," said Renvil, unconcerned by the nearby din of slaughter. "I want Sereda to see her face when she comes."

Brusquely, Baizyl yanked the fabric away from Anora's face. She sucked in deep breaths of fresh air as she took in her surroundings. Just as she had suspected, they were in a cave. Glowing veins of green and orange crystals were shot through its granite walls. Renvil, glowering, stood next to a lever on the wall. The mechanism must have controlled the massive stone slab that now separated them from Kaura's gang and the darkspawn. Both dwarves wore swords on their hips - though judging by the stiff awkwardness of Renvil's posture, he was not accustomed to his weapon as anything more than a ceremonial affectation. At the other end of the cave was the tunnel through which Anora had entered. The cart in which she had ridden waited at the entrance to the passageway. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Protecting my throne," said Renvil.

"Your wife got what she wanted when we reopened the Commons," said Baizyl. "If she'd left well enough alone after that, we wouldn't be here. But she just had to complicate things when the time came to vote for the new monarch."

"You and your supporters moved to vote for the monarchy, not Sereda," said Renvil, sourly.

"A minor miscalculation that will not be repeated," said Baizyl. "When Sereda comes for her wife, she'll vacate her claim to the crown, or she'll die. After that, things will go back to the way they were for all of us."

Now Anora understood. "The two of you must be losing out on some lucrative arrangements if you're willing to work together. When no one is king, both of you can _act_ like you're king and profit by it, can't you? But when Sereda came along and forced the issue, it upset the equilibrium between you. You have to get rid of her so you can make sure the throne stays empty and you can go on bleeding your own people dry to line your own pockets."

"Shut up," Baizyl growled, and she knew she had it right.

"Baizyl," Renvil snapped. "Guard your tongue. She doesn't need to know any of this. Sereda will come for her soon enough. It is as you said. This will all be over before we know it."

Baizyl nodded wordlessly. Anora knew she would learn no more from him or from Renvil. The screaming on the other side of the door had finally died away, leaving behind a silence that was infinitely more horrifying. _This doesn't mean the darkspawn aren't still right there._ Her knees went weak again, and Baizyl did not stop her from sliding to the floor to lean against the cold rock wall behind her. _Think,_ she told herself, _think. There has to be some way out of this mess that doesn't involve waiting for Sereda to show up and die. I have to get myself free before she gets here._

As she looked at the lever and the door and the tunnel, she began to formulate a plan. It was risky, and dependent in part on luck, and she would have to time it perfectly. It was also the best idea she could come up with under the circumstances. As she worked it over in her mind she nearly talked herself out of it - _it's so dangerous, isn't it better just to be patient and let Sereda handle this?_ But in the end, Baizyl's own words reminded her that waiting would be even more dangerous than acting. _"I can't ever let it be known that I hired Carta thugs to help eliminate my political rivals." As long as Sereda is alive, she's a threat to their reign. And as long as I'm alive, I know what they did and I can tell others. So they're going to kill us both, no matter what they say._ So she went inside herself as she'd done so often at Stonewater Castle, refining her ideas, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

When she knew she could delay no longer, she spoke. "I need to use the privy," she said, casting a vulnerable and beseeching look at Baizyl.

Baizyl laughed. "We're in the Deep Roads. There's no privy to be had for miles, I'm afraid."

"A corner of the room, then. Please. I can't wait any longer."

Baizyl glanced at Renvil, who shrugged. "I won't stop her."

"Then go," said Baizyl, pointing to a nearby pile of rubble that allowed Anora some privacy.

Anora gestured at the ropes binding her hands and feet. "Either you need to untie me or you need to lift my skirt for me."

Without hesitating, Baizyl reached for Anora's bonds. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Renvil said sharply.

Baizyl chuckled. "It's not as if she has anywhere to run."

"Fine," Renvil grunted.

Baizyl made quick work of the knots in the rope. Anora shuddered in relief as warm, tingling sensation rushed back into her wrists and ankles. She took her time standing up, rubbing feeling back into her extremities. _Timing will be everything,_ she thought. Baizyl and Renvil were both watching her, but they expected her to flee toward the tunnel, or perhaps to launch herself at one of them in a doomed and suicidal attack. They were not nearly so prepared for other possibilities. So when Anora, on her way to the corner, instead broke off from her path and lunged for the lever that operated the huge stone door, neither Baizyl nor Renvil could stop her.

"Don't!" shouted Renvil, but he was much too late. Anora's hands closed over the lever. She pulled it down as hard as she could, putting her entire weight into the movement. Something clicked deep within the mechanism. The lever shuddered in her grip. When she heard the first rattles of clockwork and the door began to rise, she didn't wait to find out what she had unleashed. She turned toward the tunnel and ran, squeezing past the cart and making for the surface. She knew was not especially strong or swift, and her endurance had its limits. Ordinarily, she would have little chance of outrunning anyone. But her legs were longer than any dwarf's, and she had a head start. What was more, Baizyl and Renvil had other concerns.

"Get her!" yelled Baizyl, his words nearly drowned out by a sudden chorus of savage growls emanating from the caves behind the door. _Good,_ thought Anora. _The darkspawn haven't gone far...if you can call that "good."_

"No!" retorted Renvil, sounding panicked. "Close the door first!"

"Then _you_ do it!"

There was another loud ticking noise, followed by the scream of gears trying to reverse themselves. The steady rumble of the moving door had not stopped. Anora did not dare to look behind her to see what was happening, but she could guess. Although Renvil had surely thrown the lever again, the workings of such a complex mechanism and the momentum of such a heavy door could not be immediately undone. Another darkspawn roar, louder and closer this time, and Renvil shrieked in terror and pain. "Help! Baizyl! _Damn you!_ "

Baizyl did not respond, even as Renvil's screams and please grew more pained and more frantic, then began to fade. The darkspawn were dragging him away, through the closing door. Anora's gorge rose. She kept running. Then the door slid shut again with a heavy thump, and the only sounds were Anora's own heavy breathing and Baizyl's running footsteps, steadily gaining on her from below.

She finally hazarded a glance over her shoulder. _Maker, he's close. I can't do this forever._ The tunnel was wider here, with another rickety and unused minecart resting off to one side. She gave the cart a hard shove as she passed it, sending it clattering down behind her. There was a firm thump and Baizyl let out a cry of pain, and she knew it had reached its target.

The steep slope of the stone floor was unrelenting. The ceiling was so low that Anora had to duck periodically to avoid smashing her head into dangling stalactites. Her legs ached. Her lungs burned. Her heart hammered in her chest, so hard she wondered if it might burst, but she knew that if she slowed down she would die. She was coming up to a junction now, a vaulted grotto where several tunnels met. She did not know which branch led to freedom and which ones only led farther into the Deep Roads and closer to certain doom. But before she could choose her path, a new voice resounded from somewhere nearby. "Anora! _Anora!_ "

_Sereda!_ "Here," she called weakly, barely able to summon enough breath to speak. But it must have been loud enough for Sereda to hear, because she burst out of a tunnel with a dagger in each hand. Her eyes flashed with a righteous anger Anora had not seen in her since the Landsmeet. At the sight of Anora, relief flooded Sereda's face. They stepped toward each other -

\- and Baizyl grabbed Anora from behind. _Too slow after all,_ she thought with distant resignation. She felt the cold steel of his sword at her throat as he hissed in her ear. "You've led me on a merry chase, Lady Anora. But now it's time for your dear wife to surrender or watch you die."


	14. Chapter 14

"Don't come any closer," Baizyl commanded. He pressed the sword against Anora's neck. She flinched as its sharp edge bit into her skin and a fine thread of blood oozed out.

"Be reasonable, Baizyl," said Sereda, slowly and deliberately. She and Baizyl had begun to circle each other, a pair of duelists preparing to exchange the first fierce flurry of blows that would decide the outcome of their contest. Once again, Anora was just along for the ride. "I never wanted any of this to come to violence. We can still talk it over and find a solution."

"It already _has_ come to violence, Paragon. And we're well past 'reasonable' tonight." Baizyl's voice sounded all but maniacal in Anora's ear. "The only way you and your wife walk out of this is if you swear on the Stone you'll tell your supporters to vote me in as king."

"A few weeks ago, you might have convinced me," said Sereda. "But today I've seen the man you really are, Baizyl. Kidnapping your rival's wife? Hiring the Carta to do your dirty work?"

"How did you know about that?" Baizyl said, alarmed.

Sereda ignored him. "Sounds to me like Orzammar politics as usual. You talked about being hailed as a reformer, Baizyl, but in the end you're just as corrupt as everyone else. Just like your cousin was. Just like my brother was, too. You'll sit on that throne over my dead body."

_That's the idea,_ thought Anora glumly.

"Sereda," said Baizyl in a patronizing tone, "don't you see I've already won? Either you support me, or you die. I'd rather have the support of a living Paragon, but if I can't, the story I'll tell will make my point just as well. The Assembly won't have any trouble believing that your foolish human wife could have blundered into the Deep Roads, or that you would valiantly go after her when you found her missing. My cousin and I had no choice but to try to rescue you both. It was such a tragedy when poor Renvil gave his life to hold back the approaching darkspawn horde. And when I had to kill you both, to stop you from spreading the taint you were infected with to Orzammar...Why, it's the stuff legends are made of. You said yourself I'm a hero of the Fifth Blight. They won't have any problem believing me. Or if you'd rather I tell them a different story, you can swear your oath to me and decide your own ending."

"You may not have any honor, Baizyl," said Sereda, "but I do. And I'm not going to throw it away for the likes of you."

Anora could no longer stay silent. "Warden-Commander, _please_. Just tell him what he wants to hear. We'll figure out the rest of it later."

Sereda stood up straighter, her fists clenched tightly around her daggers, defiance and determination etched into her face. "No."

Baizyl pressed the sword more firmly against Anora's throat. A cold, excruciating dart of pain shot through her body, and she cried out. "Then your love will die," he said, matter-of-factly. "I wonder if you'll still act so self-righteous after you've watched her bleed out in front of you?"

Something broke inside Anora. She laughed, a hysterical and uncontrollable cackle that made Baizyl ease his blade away from her neck as he stared at her in confusion. "She doesn't love me," she choked out between peals of laughter. "This proves it. She only married me because she told herself she had to. You think she cares what happens to me? She doesn't."

Baizyl stiffened. "That can't be true." He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself that a life without love were possible. _It's more common than he knows,_ thought Anora wearily.

"She's right," said Sereda. Her body language was relaxed, almost casual, and there was a terrible calmness in her voice. "Our marriage is one of convenience. A favor to a friend, after a fashion. She's a burden I've been forced to bear, and nothing more. It's true, I swore an oath to her - but I swore an oath to Orzammar too, when I was born into the noble caste. But it seems I can only save one of them from you: my wife, or my homeland. So the choice is clear. Do what you want to her - but know that it won't stop me from doing what I want to _you_."

As Sereda spoke, a strange sense of peace filled Anora's mind and body. _Then this is how I die. There's nothing else I can do. At least I know the truth now. She never loved me. I was deceiving myself all along if I ever thought she might feel otherwise. I wish it could have been different._ She closed her eyes, fighting back tears, waiting to feel the last cold sharp stroke of the blade to open her throat and end it all. _Father, I hope you would be proud of me for how hard I tried. Perhaps I'll see you again soon._

But the killing blow did not come. Instead she felt a sudden jolt, as if someone had bumped into her from behind. Baizyl's grip around her torso slackened, and the sword at her neck fell away. Instinctively, she stepped out of his hold. Her curiosity overwhelmed her desire to run, and she turned around to see what had happened.

Baizyl had fallen to his knees. The tip of a greatsword protruded from the center of his chest - and its wielder was none other than Gorim Saelac. He must have crept up behind Baizyl through one of the tunnels and ambushed him from behind while he was distracted. With a look of grim determination, Gorim pulled the sword free of Baizyl's convulsing body. Baizyl slumped to the ground. Anora stood over him and watched as the life left him. _I'm safe,_ she thought distantly. _I'm going to live after all. Sereda doesn't love me. Does this mean I'm free now? Do I_ want _to be?_

Sereda was at her side now, looking worried despite it all. "Are you hurt?"

Anora touched the cut on her neck. Her fingers came away slightly bloodied, but she could tell it was a shallow wound. It would soon heal on its own. "No. But Renvil...and the Carta…"

"They got what they deserved," Gorim said with finality. "Sereda, the watch is waiting for you back at the entrance to the Deep Roads. They'll want to see for themselves what happened here. Shall I fetch them?"

"Yes," said Sereda. "And tell them to hurry. This place isn't safe for any of us."

"At once," said Gorim. He jogged away down a tunnel.

Anora had a thousand questions to ask Sereda, but the first one that came out was, "How did you find me? Did Baizyl and Renvil really leave a note?"

"They did," said Sereda. "But our chambermaid was the real hero of the day. When she found out you were missing, she insisted on helping to find you. She told us all about the secret entrances to the Deep Roads so we didn't have to come in the way the Harrowmonts wanted us to. She knows a lot more than she lets on."

Anora was unable to suppress a small smile. "That's Rica. I owe her a lot."

"We both do."

There was a long, awkward pause. "Thank you for rescuing me," Anora said at last. "I'm sorry you had to. And I'm sorry for what I said to you about wanting to be queen but feeling ashamed of it. I should never have tried to pressure you into anything."

"Don't apologize. What I said to you was worse."

"But it was true, and I deserved it. You said it yourself: I've been nothing but a burden to you since we met. I'll try not to be one in the future."

For a moment, Sereda looked puzzled. Then her expression softened and she met Anora's gaze, swallowing hard. "My lady...You know that all those things I said to Baizyl about not caring about you were lies, don't you? I had to buy time to let Gorim get in position."

Anora could hardly believe her ears. "You mean...They weren't?"

"No. I would never sacrifice your life for any reason. Was what _you_ said true? You really believe I don't…?"

"That you don't love me? Of course not. Why _would_ you? You sent me into exile. You sent my father to his death. You dragged me into this nightmare all because King Alistair told you so. That's how you treat an enemy. Not someone you love."

Long minutes passed before Sereda finally spoke again. "You're right. I haven't treated you like someone I love. I've asked so much of you, in Orzammar and before. And at the Landsmeet, I _hated_ you. All I could see were your father's crimes, and Alistair's goodness, and the consequences of getting it all wrong. So I chose him over you. And I knew what it would cost you, but at the time, it seemed like the only way to save Ferelden. It's too late to change that now. But if I had it all to do over again…

"Alistair is a good man, my lady. He was my best friend during the Blight, and I still might call him that, if pressed. All those months spent fighting the darkspawn...I asked so much of him, again and again, and he rose to every challenge. So I looked at the throne of Ferelden and I thought: what's one more? But I was wrong. Alistair is...well, he's a lot of things, but he's a bad king. He's not as bad for Ferelden as my brother would have been for Orzammar, but he's not what your kingdom needed after the war, either. I should have known it from the start. And the truth is I was _scared_ of you, my lady: of your nerve, of your ambition, of your mind. I was frightened by what I felt when I thought about you. So I stuck with the plan, and I made a mistake. I threw you away and buried it all as deep as it could go. I mean, do you think the only reason I promised to protect you was because Alistair asked me to?"

"It wasn't?"

"I've said it before. My words are my deeds, lady. But that means my deeds are also my words. I would never have promised to defend you with my life if I didn't believe you were worthy of it." Sereda took a deep breath. "I'm falling in love with you, Anora. I don't expect you to understand, or to feel the same. But I needed you to know the truth - and now you do."

"I do." Gently, hesitantly, Anora reached out and touched Sereda's face. "I owe you the truth as well. And I don't understand how it happened, but I think I love you, too."

Anora would never be quite sure which one of them leaned toward the other first. She only knew that a heartbeat later her lips were on Sereda's in the first genuine kiss they had ever shared. It seemed to go on forever, the Deep Roads falling away around them, but at last Sereda pulled away with a satisfied smirk. From somewhere in the distance Anora heard the echo of marching feet and shouted orders - the Orzammar watch, coming to clean up the mess. "Let's continue this later," said Sereda. "But first, I think you and I have a story to tell to the Assembly."


	15. Chapter 15

The living quarters in the Orzammar royal palace were as opulent as anything Anora had ever seen anywhere else in Thedas. The tall ceilings were exquisitely carved and painted with murals of dwarven history. Every textile and every item of furniture was a masterwork - and the four-poster bed was more than long enough to accommodate her height. But when she first entered her new home on the night of Sereda Aeducan's coronation, Anora had eyes only for her wife. Her new blue dress was perfectly cut and ornately embroidered, and the crown on her brow sparkled and gleamed in the light. But most beautiful of all was the radiant, contented smile on her face. As Sereda removed her crown and cautiously set it on a high shelf for safekeeping, Anora embraced her from behind. Sereda spun around and pulled her into a deep and passionate kiss. "My lady," said Sereda affectionately.

"Warden-Commander," responded Anora. "Or should I say, Your Majesty."

Sereda smiled, shaking her head. "That's going to take some getting used to."

"You deserve it," said Anora. After the deaths of Baizyl and Renvil and the revelation of their treachery, Sereda's election as queen of Orzammar had been a foregone conclusion. Even so, it had taken weeks for the deshyrs to agree on that fact, and nearly as long for Sereda to come around to the idea of rulership.

"Every noble child imagines being king or queen someday," Sereda had explained, "but the reality of it...You've seen what the deshyrs can be like. I'm not sure I want to take responsibility for handling all their nonsense. Or if I _can_ handle it, honestly."

"You'll be brilliant," Anora had reassured her. "I've seen how you care about your people - and how they care about you. A ruler who truly believes in their mission, and who has the people on their side, can solve any problem thrown at them. The rest of it will come with time. And if it doesn't...well, you have me, don't you?"

From then on, Sereda's confidence had grown - though she did not hesitate to acknowledge all the other people whose contributions had aided her. She praised Gorim so extensively before the Assembly that rumors about his incipient election as Paragon began to spread. More privately, but no less effusively, she also showered Rica with gratitude. Sereda was amazed and moved to discover her nephew Endrin's existence, and she immediately took steps to bring him back to Orzammar and elevate the Brosca family to the nobility alongside him. Rica would return to the palace, but as an honored noblewoman and the mother of a prince, not a secret mistress or a maid. Not only was Endrin a potential heir in need of support and education, bringing him home was the right thing to do.

But at least for one night, Anora resolved to put Orzammar's political maneuvering out of her mind. Sereda seemed prepared to do the same. "I couldn't have done this without you," she said, embracing Anora closely once more. "Which reminds me - there's something I want to show you. A gift, I suppose."

Sereda crossed to the large pile of luggage by the door - their belongings had just been delivered from Gorim's house and they hadn't yet had time to unpack - and rummaged through one of them. "Are you going to show me that rock you saved?" asked Anora.

Sereda froze, color rising to her cheeks. "I didn't know you knew about that."

Anora laughed. "I found it by mistake. I'll confess it made me wonder. Don't worry, Sereda. It touched me that you kept it. Honestly."

"I never claimed I wasn't sentimental," said Sereda, shaking her head. "Anyway - found it!" She pulled something out of one of the boxes and crossed to the bed, holding the object behind her back. Anora followed and sat next to her on the plush mattress. "I saved this for you."

At first, Anora couldn't identify the small slab of stone she'd been handed. Then she remembered her whirlwind trip to the Shaperate on her first day in Orzammar, and understanding dawned on her. "This is our marriage certificate. The one you were supposed to give to the Lord Shaper."

Sereda nodded. "The very same."

"I thought our marriage wasn't official until the Shaperate used this to record it. Do you mean…?"

"It isn't yet? Yes. I suppose it isn't."

"All this time," said Anora, appalled. She didn't _want_ to be angry - not here, not now - but she couldn't entirely suppress her feelings. "You said a valid marriage was the only thing protecting me ! Don't you understand how much danger I was in - how much I'm _still_ in? Why would you do such a thing?"

"It's considered impolite to question a Paragon's word. If I said we were married, and at least acted like I was trying to follow the traditions, I was counting on no one contradicting me." Sereda's blush deepened as she talked. "I meant to make it official. Really. But when they didn't record us in the Memories right away, I guess I thought…" She took a deep breath and spoke the rest of the words in a frantic rush. "Even though the situation in Ferelden forced the issue, I wouldn't have sworn on the Stone if I didn't really want to marry you. But I didn't know if you felt the same. Even if you said the Wall of Memories didn't mean anything to you, I wanted to give you the chance to change your mind before you were added to it. To leave me later, if you wanted to - or to choose for yourself to be with me. So I suppose what I'm asking is...will you marry me? Again? For real this time?"

Anora passed the Shaper's tablet back to Sereda, who looked puzzled until she saw the smile on Anora's face. "Yes," said Anora, "yes, of course I will." She leaned into another kiss that only ended when Sereda broke it off with a gasp.

"I suppose that makes this our wedding night, after a fashion," said Sereda with a devilish grin.

"It does," said Anora. "And I intend to make the most of it."

They took their time undressing each other, kissing until they were both breathless, exploring each other's bodies with deliberate patience. No one and nothing would interrupt them here, and there was no doubt or shame to stand in their way. But Anora had only one thing on her mind. Gently, she lay Sereda down in the bed and whispered, "I'd like to return a favor to you." Sereda nodded, licking her lips in anticipation, and Anora lowered her head between Sereda's legs.

Anora had been very young the last time she'd been with a woman, but this was a skill no one ever truly lost. She paid close attention to Sereda's sighs and moans and murmured commands of "faster" and "harder" and "oh! Just like that, right there." Before long Sereda was coming around Anora's thrusting fingers, bathing her tongue in a gush of warm liquid that Anora gratefully lapped up. In the absence of any instruction to stop, she continued on, bringing Sereda to climax after wailing climax, reveling in the pride she felt at having given her such pleasure.

After a last shattering orgasm, Sereda reached down and softly pushed Anora's face away. Anora crawled up the bed to lie next to her while both of them rested and recovered. Anora's own arousal was a constant throbbing pressure that ignited every fiber of her being, but she waited, certain that Sereda understood her situation and had a worthy plan in mind for how to resolve it.

Indeed, Sereda kissed her once again, then climbed out of bed. "Wait here," she said. She crossed to the pile of luggage and rummaged around in it once again. Anora looked on, appreciating her wife's casual nudity, until Sereda returned with a long, flat box. "I had this made for us," she said, and opened the lid.

Two objects rested within the velvet-lined case: a carved stone phallus with a rune inscribed at its base, and a leather harness to hold it. Sereda looked up at Anora with eagerness and concern warring on her face. "I may have been too forward. I don't know if you've ever used anything like this before, but I thought that perhaps…"

"I never have," said Anora. "But I'd love to try it. Especially with you."

"Me too," said Sereda with a smile.

After a few minutes of awkward fumbling with straps and buckles, Sereda stood before Anora with the harness firmly cinched around her hips and the toy standing out in front of her. Tentatively they touched and kissed each other, getting used to the presence of the new object between them. Then Sereda climbed back onto the bed and lay down on her back. "Do what you want to me, my lady," she purred.

Anora couldn't have waited any longer if she'd wanted to. She straddled Sereda, positioning the toy at her entrance, and lowered herself down onto it in a single decisive motion. She was already so wet that it slipped in effortlessly, and they both let out a small, satisfied noise as it sheathed itself within her. Then Anora began to move. Sereda's hips lifted up to match her and find a steady rhythm together. The toy had delicate ridges carved into it that seemed to find every sensitive spot inside Anora. Much too soon, she was coming as intensely as Sereda had.

But Sereda wasn't finished either. "Can I try something else?" she asked as she guided Anora off to the side of the mattress and onto all fours. Anora could only nod her assent. Her whole body was still humming with unquenched desire. Sereda positioned herself behind Anora and pressed into her yet again. Anora felt Sereda's thumb brush the base of the toy, and remembered the rune she had seen there. The toy began to vibrate, the enchantment sending waves of sensation through both of them as Sereda thrust against Anora from behind. Together they lost themselves in spiraling waves of ever-increasing pleasure that ended only when their hands and knees had gone too weak with satisfaction to support their weight.

When it was over, Anora and Sereda held each other tightly in the bed, finally at peace together. _It's funny,_ thought Anora. _I couldn't stand how small the bed in Gorim's house was for me, and now that we have a bigger one, I want to be as close to her as I can._ "What do you think?" she said teasingly, lifting her head to meet Sereda's gaze. "Once we get things under control in Orzammar, shall we go back to the surface and see whether King Alistair might be interested in abdicating? He just might consider it a blessing."

Sereda laughed and kissed her. "One kingdom at a time," she said. "Your Majesty."

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the "Villain Character Death" tag:
> 
> This fic follows romance genre conventions in that the main pairing lives happily ever after. The same cannot be said for all the tagged characters. Specifically, Renvil and Baizyl Harrowmont function as the villains of the story and die in Chapters 13 and 14, respectively.


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